I've Heard It Both Ways
by MegalegU
Summary: Shawn's a faux-psychic. No, he's a real one. Wait...what?
1. Not a big deal

**A/N: Alright, I've succumbed to writing a "Shawn actually turns psychic" fic. Sue me. It's short, but if it's worth continuing, let me know. **

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><p><em>"Gus, don't be exactly half of an eleven-pound black forest ham." <em>

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><p>At first, Shawn doesn't tell Gus.<p>

He doesn't need to, after all. It's not a big deal. It's just that he knew when the phone was going to ring before it did, and that it would be Chief Vick asking where Shawn had hid Lassiter's phone, even though Shawn had only used it to play Angry Birds while waiting for Juliet to get back from a bathroom break and then set it somewhere –

And okay, he also knew that Henry would be at the door before he knocked but those were both things he could have predicted without being psychic.

Psychic. Shawn laughs. For five years he's been pulling the scheme that he's not only a detective, but a psychic as well.

And it's been good. Who can say that it hasn't? He gets sizeable amounts of money for traipsing around, yelling inaudible statements and moving and shaking his way through even the most frightening of cases, while simultaneously managing to flirt with Juliet and make fun of Lassie's hair.

So he doesn't tell Gus that he knows that people are going to knock at the door or that people are going to call before they do. Somehow, some way, all this faux-psychic-ness has rubbed off on him, he decides. That's got to be it. No big deal, nothing major.

He's watching a _Cheers _marathon one day and Gus is sitting across from him at his desk, filling out some form or other for his "real job" and Shawn has his feet up, eating some Doritos, when there's this _flash _In Shawn's head and he sees Juliet walking up the pathway to their office. He bolts upright, shouts, "I'll get it!" and prances to the door.

Gus looks on in amusement.

Shawn swings the door open, smiling. "Hey, Juliet," he says in a sing-song tone. He eyes seem to dance as he looks at his girlfriend. She's wearing that peach blouse that she knows he loves on her and her eyes are all done up with that black goopy stuff – mascara! – and she's surprised that he opens the door while her fist is raised, ready to knock.

While Shawn just managed to know that Juliet was going to knock at the door before she did, he was more focused on the fact that Juliet was going to _knock. _She doesn't _knock _anymore. Especially not since their relationship started after that uber-rich Declan _douche _ was dumped by her.

And before Juliet can open her mouth to say 1) that that was amazing how Shawn knew she was going to be there before she knocked – she still complimented him, even now – and 2)…

"There's been a murder." Shawn says, knowingly, confidently.

"Yes!" Juliet is surprised. "How did you…?"

"Lucky guess." Shawn shrugs it off and then leans back in the office. "Gus! Grab your coat! We've got a case!"


	2. You've got to be kidding

**A/N: Oh my gosh you guys! Thank you for all the reviews! Thank you so, so much! I love all your guys' kind words and I really appreciate them. That being said, this chapter is short too, but I felt like I needed to get this out there before I got really deep into the story...speaking of, if you guys have ANY ideas, please feel free to tell me! I am at a sort of writer's block already. I probably won't update this for another week or so. But again, thank you guys!**

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><p><em>"Gus, don't be this crevice in my arm." <em>

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><p>Gus doesn't know what the hell is wrong with Shawn.<p>

He noticed it last Wednesday, during one of their many jerk chicken dinners. Gus had said something like, "My grandmother called me the other day and-!"

"She wants you to get married soon because she thinks you're too old to be alone." Shawn murmured, eyes down at the table, fiddling with the wrapper that had been on his straw. He hadn't put his fingers up to his temples or closed his eyes really tightly or said it in a high-pitched, pain-filled voice like he always did when he was around the chief, or Lassiter, or Juliet, or…well, anybody except him and Henry. But Gus had _expected _him to do one of those three things because he hadn't told Shawn about his grandmother and okay, at first he wasn't even intending to because that's a weird topic to bring up at dinner and he had to get back home soon, to his apartment so that he could get those samples of that drug that he couldn't remember the name of to that guy's practice that he couldn't remember the name of. But the point was, he _had _mentioned it and Shawn had known about it and he wasn't planning on even telling Shawn and he had taken the phone call at work, while playing Galaga, instead of fixing files or whatever it was he was supposed to be doing in place of pushing drugs onto doctors, so Shawn wouldn't have been able to hear the conversation so he _couldn't _have known. But he did.

But Gus had shaken the whole thing off because Shawn had probably been snooping around his office or something and had left out of boredom. That had to be it, there was no other explanation.

But then later that night, much later, when Gus was in bed, Shawn had called him, yelping about how tomorrow morning Gus's sink was going to explode or something and Gus had rolled his eyes, clicked off the call, and fell asleep. He had just dismissed Shawn's antics as always, until the next morning, when he went to rinse his bowl of cereal and the faucet flew off, smacking him in the face and spewing water In every direction. He'd frantically dialed the number of a nearby plumber and had had to pay three hundred and fifty dollars for the thing.

That was when he started to get suspicious of Shawn. He _had _to have been messing with him, Gus decided. Somehow, he had loosened the faucet or something, made it fly off. These random psychic burstings had to just be interlaced into the plan, so he could freak Gus out, just for laughs. That's how Shawn was, Gus reasoned with himself. If he confided in Shawn, the pranks would just keep coming. He just had to act like it was all okay, and Shawn would get bored and drop it.

Which didn't happen.

Shawn kept on being weird into the next week, predicting that Gus's favorite band, Rush, was going to have a surprise concert at some random dive bar in downtown Santa Barbra. Gus had gone, thinking that all he'd run into was some sketchy alcoholics and outdated beer, but instead, Rush _was _there and Gus had a great time. So much of a great time that he completely forgot about Shawn predicting it.

The morning after the concert, Gus had gone into the Psych office to get a few things before heading to work, and Shawn had been watching the TV intently, barely acknowledging him, playing with that same frog toy that Gus had desperately tried to throw away, but Shawn adamantly refused to abandon the "poor thing" (he had found it on a walk on the pier and Gus was thoroughly convinced that Shawn would benefit from it if he just dumped it in a vat of acid). When Gus stood directly in front of the television, Shawn didn't make a noise of protest or even crane his neck to see around him, just mumbled, "Weather girl's going to trip and fall."

Gus opened his mouth to ask Shawn what he meant by that, when the blonde weathergirl on-screen clutching a bright umbrella tripped and stumbled onto the floor, leaving the weather report without a meteorologist.

_Holy _crap, Gus had thought.


	3. This ain't a scene, it's a muuuurder

A/N: OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS! Thank you, thank you, for all of the story alerts & reviews! I will take the time to reply to every single one of you, promise. You all are very kind and have not said a bad thing at all! I really appreciate that, so here's a chapter, that took like five minutes for me to write...sorry that's it's STILL in Shawn-being-weird mode. Next chapter: the action!

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><p>On the way to the scene of the murder, the car is silent. Not 'normal-silent', where Shawn would burst out with one of his 80's movie references or 'visions', not even 'semi-normal', where Lassiter and Juliet would be arguing about who would solve the crime before whom. (Usually Shawn took these awards, but no one pointed that out, because they lost).<p>

Shawn is texting a random person on his phone, Gus is shooting him strange looks, Juliet is driving _Lassiter's _car, and Lassiter is leaning his head against the window.

It's raining outside, Gus notes to himself. He looks again to Shawn, who's staring out the window, too, entertained by the mundane weather, completely silent.

Gus is worried.

First these maybe-they-are-maybe-they're-not-pranks and now this silent-mopey-likes-to-look-at-rain Shawn? Maybe he's sick. Yes, that has to be it. He will call up to the doctor's as soon as they get back to the Psych office. He doesn't care if they are right into the beginning of a case.

Which, again, gets his mind reeling. They (usually, Shawn, he admits to himself) have to beg to be put on a case, plead and beg, put on some dramatic show, and then, reluctantly, they are put on by the Chief. Well, actually, by Henry, now. Which is weird.

(Not that he'll ever tell Henry that, or Shawn, but he guesses Shawn either already knows or _knows_…Gus isn't even sure what he means by that).

"Gus, quit staring at me," Shawn turns away from the window and fixes his eyes on Gus.

Gus looks taken aback. "I…"

"I could see your reflection in the window. What is it with you, man?"

Ouch. Gus _hmps _and turns to his window, miffed.

Juliet watches from the rearview mirror.

Lassiter, the only one who hasn't said a word to either Shawn or Gus yet, rolls his eyes at all of it. So Shawn's being oddly quiet, so what? Guster can stare all he wants, Shawn's a stubborn man, he won't say much this car ride. Or, hopefully, today. Lassiter knows that he won't. He woke up at three this morning; that damn next-door-neighbor of his was _still _blasting ACDC for his dumb party, and Lassiter, the stern detective, didn't feel inclined enough to roll out of his bed, throw on some clothes, and go over there and shove his badge in the man's face.

Lassiter wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

Screw Shawn, he's got to get his _game _back on. O'Hara is even moping around today.

What's his excuse?

He's tired, Goddamnit! Quit questioning him!

Juliet looks at her partner worriedly as she shifts into the next lane. What is _wrong _with everyone today? She got a call from Chief Vick about an apparent GSW-to-the-head victim in downtown Santa Barbra and she just shrugged her shoulders, nodded, and rounded the troops. Actually, come to think of it, _Henry _had requested Juliet grab the Psych duo. He'd said something about "needing their expertise" even though, as far as _she _could tell, it was a simple gunshot victim, something Lassiter could solve while doing one of his many Sudoku puzzles. (Though she was loathe to admit it).

Speaking of…

She looks in the mirror again.

Gus is looking more and more like a concerned parent as the minutes pass, because Shawn's all quiet in the back. He's _never _quiet, always talking a mile a minute, throwing wild accusations, referencing moments no one but he and Gus can understand, and generally being a pain in everyone's ass. But he's her _boyfriend _now, a guy that she's been loving from afar for so long. She knows every single thing about him, even the, er, secret pair of pineapple-patterned boxers he owns. _It was a long night..._

She shakes her head, aware how ridiculous this is. Nothing is wrong with Shawn. Nothing. She'll see. They'll get to the murder scene and he'll revert back to the snarky psychic that she knows and loves. Yes, that's got to be it. Maybe his psychic vision thingies or whatever he says, the spirits, maybe that's just been a little out of control today.

And Juliet smiles.

When they get to the log cabin-esque apartment complex, Shawn doesn't even ask Juliet for instructions on which apartment it is, he just takes to the stairs and shouts, "Come on!" to Gus, who wonders why this matter is so urgent, if the person is already dead, but he follows, because it's Shawn.

They run up the carpeted stairs, leaving a confused pair of detectives behind. By the time they get to the door, Gus is panting from all the running he's done. He's beginning to wonder why he bought that Planet Fitness membership if he doesn't even use it more than, say, two times a month. He looks to Shawn and sees that he, too, is panting. Maybe even worse than him, and he holds up an arm, a barrier, when Gus reaches for the brass doorknob. Gus assumes that means the door's locked or whatever, since there's no one else around, no CSU, just the usual yellow tape, but Shawn says, "Wait." He turns the knob _veerrrry _slowly, lets the door swing open, and _CRASH! _

A large china cabinet crashes down onto the brown carpet inside the apartment, making a loud, thunderous roar, glass shards rain down and bounce across the floor, pieces of the precious plates are now everywhere in the room. Shawn's not going to be surprised if everyone in the entire complex heard that.

Gus gulps.

Two reasons:

1) Holy crap, Shaw just stopped him from being possibly killed by whatever that was (and _why _was it right there, balanced above the door, in the first place?) and…

2) He could see the man slumped over in the corner of the apartment, lying flat on the floor, eyes wide open.

"How…did you know that was going to…?" Gus sputters out to Shawn, who looks equally as shocked.

"I heard it," He whispers.

And then Juliet and Lassiter are running up the stairs, shouting, and there's a blur of something, but Gus thinks that possibly, he's going to pass out.

Shawn catches him.


	4. You could call it distraction

Gus wakes up in the front seat of Lassiter's car. His head is against the cool glass window and drool is dripping down from the corner of his mouth. Disgusted, he wipes it off with his sleeve, then looks at it and sighs. _Of course, _he thinks. Of course he had to faint, right when the case was going good. Shawn had managed to creep Gus out _again _with this psychic charade. The seriousness he held had Gus thinking perhaps the performance should have won an Oscar. Gus still doesn't know why Shawn is going to such great lengths to pull a joke on him, but he kind of wishes he would just stop already. _No, _Gus decides, the next time Shawn does it, he will just clap him on the back, like a proud parent, say, "Great job, Shawn," and hopefully that will be the end of that.

Gus opens the door, steps onto the grass, and stretches. A quick glance around, and he realizes no one is around. Literally, not a police car in sight. Detectives Juliet and Lassiter are also nowhere to be seen. They all must still be in the apartment. Gus squares his shoulders in preparation, and then makes his way to the apartment. As he walks up the stairs – no running _this _time – he thinks about what to do.

He could always call Henry. Or even ask him to meet him somewhere. Maybe Shawn's had another argument with his father and he just doesn't want to say anything. Maybe it was really huge, considering Shawn hadn't confided in Gus yet about it, which he always usually did, at least to vent.

_Maybe _he should get him a therapist.

No. No. Bad idea.

Okay, if he can't call his dad or call him a therapist, what is there left?

Jerk chicken.

Gus smiles to himself as he rounds the corner of the apartment complex.

He barely makes it to the door before Shawn sidles out, his usual grin on his face, and he says, "Alright, buddy, let's go!"

Gus peeks inside the apartment. Juliet and Lassiter are still standing next to the body, talking in hushed voices, and Juliet glances back at Shawn in concern.

"What? That's it?" Gus asks in disbelief. "Did you figure it out that quick?"

"Oh, Gus," Shawn says in his condescending voice. "Of course I did, but I can't very well reveal it now, can I?"

"Well then, who did it?" Gus demands, suddenly angry with his best friend.

"I'll tell you later," Shawn whispers, casting a glance at Jules just as she manages to sneak a peek at _him. _

Gus wants to scream, but he holds it in, nods, clenches his teeth, and makes his way back down the stairs.

See, the thing about Shawn is, he was so _quiet_, for like two weeks, and now that they've stopped at a murder scene, it's like he's bounced back into his joyous persona again, which is odd, because hello, it's a _murder _scene, not a birthday party, but it means Shawn just needed a case to get him going. They _had _been pretty slumped, lately, watching old episodes of _American Duos _to pass the time.

"Hey, Gus, they're playing that new movie with that guy…at the movies tonight!" Shawn's vague invitation only irritates Gus more.

"Shawn, we can't go see a movie tonight. I've got to finish up with my other work and _you've _got to clean the office. We may have a potential client in the works and we can't bring them into that…sty."

Shawn opens the passenger side of the Echo and sighs. "Really, Gus? A few Post-Its on the floor is nothing to worry about."

"Those were not a few Post-Its!" Gus exclaims, sliding into the driver's seat. "You stuck practically a year's supply onto the floor and pretended that it was lava."

"Oh, come on, Gus!" Shawn scoffs. "You've never played 'The Floor is Lava' before?"

"Maybe when I was six years old, Shawn!"

Shawn rolls his eyes. "You just don't like to have fun."

Gus pretends to be even more irritated by this, but inside, he's grinning.

He completely forgets to ask Shawn who the murderer is.


	5. Greatness chose you

**A/N: Okay, I am SO sorry it took this long to upload a chapter, let alone this thing, which doesn't really say much, but I super-appreciate all of your reviews and story alerts, you are very, very kind! New chapters will be coming out faster now.**

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><p>Later that night, Gus and Shawn are in the Psych office again. Gus is asleep at his desk, soundly snoring, and Shawn – he's worrying.<p>

It's never been like this before. He's never felt this anxious, niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach, a weird premonition of sorts. It's like a giant, blinking warning sign, going, "DANGER!" and he has no idea what is supposed to happen or if it already did . Shawn glances over at Gus and bites his lip. He wants to tell his best friend so much, really, he does, but there's something holding him back, much like the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, it's a warning. _Don't tell Gus, _something is saying. Maybe he's got one of those crickets or whatever from that one movie with that kid whose nose got really big. What was that again, _Little Rascals? _No.

He paces near his glass board – where's he had the same "formula" written there ever since he watched that _Numb3rs _episode.

The thing is – he _knows. _He knows exactly why the murder took place and who did it and when – and he saw it all – right before they got to the scene. He also knew when that ridiculous china cabinet was going to fall down from the ceiling – and that it would have killed Gus if he hadn't kept him back. It had felt like a reflex in the moment, but when Gus asked him how he knew, Shawn had simply replied, "I heard it", because he had.

Something was wrong with him.

He couldn't tell a doctor; they'd just put him on medication. He couldn't tell his father, he would just say that Shawn's getting soft, that his game isn't what it used to be five, six, ten years ago. His mother – what would she do? Therapize him? Is that even a word? He can't tell Chief Vick or Juliet or _god forbid, _Lassiter because they all think that he is actually psychic, and Gus – well, he just went over that.

If only there was _someone… _

Ah ha!

Shawn reaches for his jacket and stumbles out of the bungalow's door, determined to get there – and _quick_.

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><p>He reaches the 24-hour diner in San Diego at nine-thirty.<p>

Typically, Ryan is there.

Ryan Jones is a man Shawn met at one of his various carnival jobs years and years ago – and he goes to this diner – just named simply, DINER – every single night. It's got something to do with his divorce and tradition, but Shawn's never questioned it.

Anyways – Ryan Jones is a tall, mid-thirties man much like Shawn, except that the similarities stop with that. He doesn't have flawless hair and an amazing complexion – Juliet's words. Okay, she's never _said _those things, but Shawn is _sure _she's at least thought them. Which counts!

Ryan Jones has short, kind-of-spiky black hair, green eyes the color of shamrocks, and wears collared shirts with his Levis. On his feet are his signature brown loafers, which he's worn since Shawn has known him.

Seeing the sight of an old friend that has no idea what Shawn's been up to makes him feel instant relief. He sidles up to Ryan's table, sits down across from him, and smiles.

Ryan looks up. "Shawn Spencer, as I live and breathe!" he smiles widely. "What brings you to San Diego? It's a bit late, isn't it?" he looks down at his watch to prove the statement.

Shawn shrugs. "I was in the neighborhood." Which isn't a total lie, if California counts as a "neighborhood".

"Sure." Ryan says, all smooth, which has always been something Shawn envies in his friend. He's always so calm, so relaxed, taking things a day at a time. Which is why he is the perfect person to tell. "So, Shawn, you want a coffee?" he signals for the waitress, but Shawn waves him off.

"Nah, man, I'm good." He leans back for a moment.

Ryan folds his newspaper back up, pushes away his plate of eggs and toast, and then folds his hands together. "So, are we going to keep beating around the bush or are you going to tell me why you're here? Did you set a hot dog stand on fire again?" the corner of his mouth quirks up, remembering that fateful day Shawn called him from a telephone booth, frantic.

"_No_," Shawn shakes his head in disbelief, wondering how Ryan still remembers that. "Um, it's kind of…personal."

"Something with your dad again? You didn't steal his cop uniform, did you?"  
>"<em>No<em>!" Shawn grumbles in annoyance. "How the hell do you remember all this stuff, anyway?"

"Good memory." Ryan taps his temple with a smirk.

"Well, just to clarify: it's not about any fires or family members, okay? And it most certainly is not about me stealing Gus's wallet again to use his credit card to buy that shirt Juliet said would look good on me at Macy's."

Ryan snorts. "I still can't believe you did that. That shirt was nine _hundred _dollars!"

"So?" Shawn shrugs, which Ryan shakes his head at. "Juliet said-!"

"Yeah, I know, _Juliet said. _The last e-mail I got from you was practically an eight-paged sonnet about the color of her eyes. You two together now?"

"For a few months." Shawn says carefully.

"And it's been going well?"

"Yes."

"Then what else is left?"

"Me."

"Something…serious?" Ryan's expression suddenly morphs into concern. "Do you need me to take you to a doctor or something? 'Cause I _know _you don't have insurance."

"Not…medically. I don't think." Shawn shakes his head.

"Then…?"

"Mentally."

"Like, _I hear voices _mentally?"

"No, Ryan. This is seriously messed up, and it took a lot of thought to even come here. I don't know who to turn to on this, because everyone thinks its _real _when it's _not _but now I think it _is _and how can I _handle _it?"

"Shawn, you gotta give me some clarification, here. _Who _thinks _what _is real?"

"The police station. Juliet. Santa Barbra." Shawn looks down at the table in resignation. "Me."

"Shawn?"

"They think I'm psychic."

Ryan puts a fist against his mouth, trying desperately not to laugh, but a small chuckle escapes. "What?"

"They…think…I'm…psychic."

"Why?" Ryan asks in disbelief. "Wait. You're saying you're _not _psychic or that you are?"

"Both!" Shawn throws his arms up in the air. "I didn't want to believe it, but apparently I am. I mean, I know when people are going to call the Psych office before they do, I know when people are going to be at the door before they arrive"-Shawn looks over at the approaching waitress, leans in closer to Ryan, and says, "She's going to drop that tray."

Right on cue, the brunette waitress drops the plastic tray, breaking the glass cups of soda. Coke spreads across the floor, and Ryan looks from the mess, where the boss is running out to scream an army of expletives at the poor waitress, and back to Shawn with an expression that holds both awe and admiration.

"Wait." Ryan holds up a hand. "Back up. Start over. I'm confused."

Shawn sighs. "Five years ago, I was calling in hints to the police station for money. I was in-between jobs, so that's what I did. Once, I got called in, because they were suspicious that I was involved in a case, and they were going to put me in a cell if I didn't either admit to being involved – which I _wasn't _– so I lied, and said that I got the information because I'm psychic. Gus went along with it, and next thing you know, here we are, five years later, and it's been smooth sailing. But lately…I've had some awkward things happen. Earlier today, I saved Gus from getting impaled by a china cabinet. Something is going on."

"Which can only lead you to believe that you're psychic." Ryan says, in a slightly confused tone.

"Yes!" Shawn slaps the table and leans back, letting a smirk appear, just for a moment. "I mean, I've already solved a murder, without the wild accusations, crazy dances, and three-day-basis it usually takes! I'm serious! I've got all the information. Right in here." He taps his temple.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Say you're actually psychic. What am I going to do tomorrow morning?"

"Head to Barnes & Noble to flip through that _Doctor Who _magazine you're always too nervous to buy because your girlfriend doesn't like nerdy things. She's more of a manicure type. Belinda. Blue. No, _Becky_!" Shawn's face contorts in disgust. "Seriously man, _Becky_? You can do better."

"Holy crap." Ryan folds his arms over his chest. "Wait. How do I know that you didn't just figure that all out by using your…whatever, your Cop Skills that Henry taught you?"

"Easy." Shawn rolls up his sleeves. "There's no way I would have gotten that from the magazine subscription sticking out of your jacket pocket because you tucked it away when you walked in here. Also, you've gotten four text messages in the past hour, all from this…_Becky _chick, but I wouldn't have been able to look because it's in your pocket. So, no, I did not use my "cop skills" to do that. So, do you believe me now?"

Ryan's eyes widened. "Oh my God, you _are _psychic!"

"Keep it down, man!" Shawn whispers, glancing furtively around them.

"How long have you…been this way?" Ryan whispers back, taking a quick sip of his coffee.

Shawn shrugs. "I'm not sure. A month or so."

"A _month_? And you haven't told a soul?"

"Well, Gus is pretty suspicious, but I doubt he's gathered as much."

Ryan shakes his head in disbelief. "This is some grade-A sci-fi, you realize that, right? This is like a movie." He glares at Shawn expectantly.

"What?" Shawn asks.

"This is the part where you throw in a movie reference."

"Well, you hit me at a dry spell; I've got nothing."

Ryan waves the waitress over. "We can't talk about this here, let's go back to my apartment." He hands the waitress a couple bills, gathers his things, and then heads to the door.

"Is _Becky _going to be there?" Shawn calls after teasingly.

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><p>Gus jolts awake from his desk, wiping away a spot of drool <em>yet again. <em>Blearily, he rubs his eyes, and then looks around the office. It's in its usual disarray, but there's one thing missing:

Shawn.

Immediately, he reaches for his phone, dials his best friend's number, and listens to the voicemail.

"_Shawn – _call me!" Gus hisses into the phone, and then gets up from his chair to pace.

This is going to be a long, long day.

Shawn acted strange, then normal, now he's gone, and _wait - _Gus feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. The murder. They've still got to investigate that. Oh, _no_...what if something bad happened with the murder? Gus dials Juliet's number, and waits.

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><p>Ryan and Shawn are sitting at his counter, slurping back root beer floats and Ryan is marveling at the sheer unbelievably at Shawn's new found powers.<p>

"I mean, _wow,_" he says, his eyes shining. "This is so awesome. Seriously. What are you going to do next?"

"What do you mean?" Shawn regards him as if he is insane.

"What do you _mean _what do I mean?" Ryan holds his arms up, outraged by the question. "You can do anything now! Stop fires, rescue children, catch terrorists!"

Shawn rolls his eyes. "Okay, first of – you can't just catch terrorists. It doesn't just come to you and Seal Team Six goes rushing in."

Ryan _hmphed. _

"I don't know what I'm going to do." Shawn shrugs.

"Oh, but you _will,_" Ryan grins knowingly.


	6. Whipped cream confessions

The next morning, Shawn rolls over on Ryan's couch and falls onto the hardwood floor. "Ow," he grumbles, reaching for his phone, which fell out of his jean pocket. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he listens to the eight voicemails he's gotten from Gus, Juliet, his father, and even one, slightly worried message from Lassiter.

Shawn pushes his palm into his forehead and blearily rubs an eye. Oh, dear _lord. _Now he's in it. He's going to have to apologize to his girlfriend, beg for his best friend's forgiveness, lie his ass off to his dad, and make fun of Lassiter's hair again.

With a muted grunt, Shawn raises himself up off the floor, pads in his sock feet to the kitchen, and opens Ryan's fridge, peering inside. _Hmmm. _Milk, eggs, cheese, whipped cream. He grabs the bottle, tips it upside down, and puts it over his mouth and presses the nozzle.

Ryan chooses that moment to walk in, wearing jeans, and a gray t-shirt. His hair's a little damp from a shower, and he shakes his head at Shawn. "You realize it's…" he glances down at his watch. "Eight thirty-seven in the morning, right?"

Shawn swallows the rest of the whipped cream in his mouth and then puts the bottle back in the fridge. "_Yes,_" he says with a smile. "You wanna make pancakes? Do you have any?' he avoids Ryan's eye as he opens various cabinets and drawers. "Where's your pancake mix?"

"Shawn…" Ryan leans against the wall. "I know you're trying to hide something when you do that."

Shawn keeps his hand still on one of the cabinets. "Look, man…" he exhales a deep breath. "This is a lot to take in, you know? I've got things appearing in my head at random-ass times, some things not even related to me, and now Gus and my dad and Juliet are all freaking out and I've got to call them…but I can't. Because then there will be questions. And I can't answer them. I'm…" Shawn swallows. "I'm scared."

Ryan blinks in surprise at the man. He certainly hadn't expected _that. _That….emotional outburst. He had expected something like _stop acting like my mom _or some really obscure 80's reference. Speaking around an unexpected lump in his throat, Ryan offers, "Do you want me…to call them? I can tell them you're staying with me or something."

Shawn opens his mouth, then closes it, not able to find the words.

Ryan nods. "Okay. I'll call them. But I won't cover for you forever, you know that, right? Santa Barbara is your territory. Not mine."

Shawn nods solemnly. "I know."

* * *

><p>Gus and Juliet are sitting at her desk and Gus is halfway done sending another angry text towards his supposed best friend, when Juliet's phone rings and she frantically answers. "<em>Shawn<em>?" she asks urgently. Her blue eyes scuttle back and forth and widen and then she just quietly says, "Okay." And hangs up the phone.

Gus practically jumps on Juliet. "That was Shawn? What did he say? Where is he? Do we need to go get him?" he had had a sinking suspicion that Shawn had maybe gotten hurt and his gut is roiling with anxiety.

"That wasn't Shawn," Juliet practically whispers. "That was some guy…Ryan? He said that Shawn's staying with him for a few days. Then he, uh…" she looks into Gus's eyes. "He gave us the address of the murderer."


	7. Greatness was thrust upon you

**A/N: Thank you guys so, so much for reading/reviewing/favoriting/story alerting! I try and respond back to every one of you, but some of you don't have accounts and some of you it says you've disabled PMs...Anyways, thank you thank you thank you!**

* * *

><p>Apparently, Ryan's new job was to work entirely from home, designing websites. So while he put something together for a woman's brownie idea, Shawn occasionally would say, "You're going to drop that" or "that man's definitely going to get dumped tonight". He occasionally threw Ryan's rubber band ball up and down, pacing, and reaching for a snack. Once, he even contemplated grabbing Ryan's copy of <em>Catch 22, <em>but then he shook his head in repulsion. He needed to get out and do something, not just fester away in this dingy apartment. Shawn gets up from the counter where he's sittings, shouts, "I'm going out, man!"

Ryan scooches his wheelie chair into view. "Where?" he asks suspiciously, much like Shawn is his child.

Shawn rolls his eyes. "You know, around. Maybe I'll get an ice cream."

Ryan rubs his chin. "Alright, but you've got to call me and check in in an hour."

Shawn raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"_Yes_," Ryan points a finger at his friend. "_And _you have to be back before six, because I'm making chicken stir-fry."

Shawn wants to tell his younger friend that he can hardly boss his thirty-four-year old ass around, but what he did for him this morning was huge, so he nods and opens the front door, clicking it shut gently behind him.

As Shawn walks down the street, he exhales a sigh of relief. Telling Ryan the address of the murderer this morning had been…_weird. _It was a normal thing for him, to find murderers and make wild accusations and then go get jerk chicken with Gus at the end of it all. But it was odd not to be there when Juliet and Lassiter got the address and raced off and there was that nervous anticipated energy and then the joyous feeling of victory when they get the bad guy into the detective's backseat and it was a day – or week – well spent.

And yet, Shawn didn't want to be there. He didn't want to have that sinking feeling in his stomach that all of this is…_real. _The pseudo-psychic has turned _legit. _

He turns a corner and tries to think about something else.

* * *

><p>"Wait, so Shawn gave you the address?" Lassiter asks again. He's standing right at the counter, idly twirling a pen through his fingers. The gesture is so out of character for a stoic, rigid man that Juliet's distracted and can't answer for a moment. "No," she says finally. They put the address through the GPS and found the man, who was a nervous and shaky and had been <em>veryvery <em>angry at the moment the murder took place and had confessed before they even slapped the cuffs on him. The only thing missing was a duo-celebratory dance given by Shawn and Gus, but Gus's other half was somewhere else in California, avoiding everyone.

"What do you mean _no_?" Lassiter asks, dropping the pen. Juliet almost has to hold back a smile as Lassiter's Detective Voice reappears.

"Well, technically, _yes,_" Juliet backtracks. "But it was really his friend, Ryan, he said? He said that Shawn's staying with him for a few days and that he can't talk to any of us until then."

Lassiter's features soften. "What's going on with him, O'Hara?" he asks quietly. And it _hurts _Juliet, it does. She wants to answer her partner because in all honesty, she likens him to a best friend, and she feels a little like she owes him one, but she can't-can't-_can't,_ even though Shawn is her boyfriend and she loves him and _he_ loves _her _and _damn it _why didn't he just _stay _here? She needs him around, without him around, the station is bleak and gloomy and quiet. Lassiter becomes more hardened, Chief Vick sticks to her soaps, and even Buzz retreats back into his shell.

So, she just shrugs and mumbles into her blouse, "I don't know."

* * *

><p>Shawn sometimes <em>really <em>hates the fact that his eidetic memory has turned…supernatural.

Yeah, at first, there was the whole _holy crap holy crap I'm psychic holy crap _thing running through his mind but it's been a few weeks and it's sort of died down to a burden that he can complain about with a smirk – but right now, he really hates it.

Of course it was _his _luck that a carnival was going on just a few blocks away from Ryan's and of course it was _his _luck that a concert was going on. He weaved through the crowds and bought a soda and sipped from it periodically and then…

_The psychic's work is never done. _

He drops his soda, feeling a gripping pain in his side. He grabs onto a nearby picnic table that's in the food arena, and grits his teeth. Nearby, an elderly woman gasps. Her daughter, a nurse, races over to the younger man. "Sir? Sir, are you alright?" she breathlessly examines him and he appears to be fine. She unzips his jacket, casts it aside, and lifts up his t-shirt. "Sir, can you hear me?"

Meanwhile, Shawn is being…_crushed. _Someone is being _crushed. _It's leaving him gasping for breath, he can't…move.

His eyes snap open and he breaths in ragged, deeply. He looks to his right, surprised. "Hi?" he asks.

"Hey," the young woman's brown eyes shine. "You alright?"

"Just…a…muscle spasm thing, I'm okay." Shawn rises to his feet. The people that had crowded around out of interest gave a round of applause to the frazzled nurse. She smiled her thanks and guided Shawn back to the table to sit down and hands him a water bottle. He holds it to her then tips it back and guzzles it.

The young nurse regards him with interest. This man had just seemed to be going through crippling pain and now he's _fine. "_Are you sure you're alright? There's some EMS parked nearby…" she gestures to the back of the carnival, where indeed an ambulance is visible.

Shawn waves his hand. "Nah, I'm good." Then he looks up in alarm at the stage that some bohemian band is performing on. "Holy _crap,_" he croaks.

"I knew it," the nurse gets up. "I'm going to get a paramedic."

Shawn grabs her arm. "No, not that. The stage. See? Look!" he points, but the nurse can't tell what the problem is.

"What? The band?" she asks. "The Dandy Warhols? They don't sound _that _bad…"

"No." Shawn rolls his eyes, but gets up, standing next to her. "It's going to collapse." Then he breaks into a full-on sprint towards the crowd.

"Wait!" the nurse runs after him.

"EVERYBODY GET OUT!" Shawn shouts, but of course, no one can hear him over the music. He waves his arms around like a windmill, all the while, the nurse running behind him, trying desperately to get him before he causes scene.

"THE STAGE IS GOING TO COLLAPSE!" Shawn shouts, and he gets into the fray, telling anyone who will listen. He shouts it into people's ears, the nurse apologizing after him. Finally, he manages to get close to the stage and gestures wildly to the lead singer, who abruptly stops singing. The other members lift their instruments, confused.

"THE. STAGE. IS. GOING. TO. COLLAPSE."

And, just like Shawn said, the floor from beneath the members' feet falls through. Screams can be heard throughout the crowd as masses of people turn around, making a break to get away. The nurse who has been following Shawn gets caught up in the frazzled mess and falls to the ground.

It's absolute chaos as people run everywhere, the band members weakly try to get to their feet, and people get stuck beneath the rubble. Shawn tries desperately to help anyone he can, and when he's gotten a young girl out from beneath a particularly large piece of wood, he turns to the nurse, who is lying unconscious on the ground.

"Oh, Christ," he mutters. He lifts the woman into his arms and runs to the ambulance that he can see in the distance, all the while thinking, _Ryan's going to _freak.

* * *

><p>Truth be told, Ryan is sitting impatiently on the couch back at his apartment three hours later, a bowl of Doritos in front of him that he can't possibly eat at a time like this. One moment he's drafting a website together, the next, he gets an e-mail from his favorite news channel that says something like MAN WARNS ABOUT STAGE COLLAPSE.<p>

And, of course, the only thought running through his mind is, _Shawn… _

The doors squeaks open, and Shawn walks in with a young woman, who is clutching an ice pack to her head.

"What the hell?" Ryan demands as soon as the door is shut behind the two. "What happened?"

"Ssh," Shawn points to the woman.

Ryan crosses his arms over his chest and taps his foot as Shawn leads her to Ryan's bedroom, helps her lay down, and then goes back into the living room. "Yeah?"

"What do you mean '_yeah_'?" Ryan imitates Shawn's tone. "You leave for an hour and all hell breaks loose?"

"Look, I don't know man, I got this gut feeling and this nurse was with me and thought I was hurt or something and next thing I know, that stage is going down and I've got to get everybody out of there. So, no one was seriously injured. Except maybe that Dandy Warhols guy. But he'll be fine. It's all good, man."

"No, not really." Ryan holds up Shawn's iPhone, which had been lying on the floor. "You left this behind. And somehow, NBC got your number. They want an interview."

Shawn slaps a hand over his face.

"Yeah, that's right." Ryan waves the phone in the air. "_This _is what I was worried about, Shawn. You're getting unwanted attention and pretty soon, someone's gonna know."

"Know what?" Shawn asks in bewilderment. "Everyone already thinks that I'm a psychic!"

Ryan deflates. "Oh, yeah." He sinks down onto the couch and Shawn slowly joins him.

"So…maybe you should take that interview."

"Yeah."


	8. we're the three amigans? amigons? AMIGOS

Gus is the first one to see the news report. He's angrily stabbing his mac 'n' cheese as the county news blares its ways onto his television, just like every evening that he's not working a case. He's got his Lactaid milk by his side and he's wearing his most comfy slippers, but nothing, not even the wonders of syndication, could have prepared him for _this. _

It's Shawn, on a blurry cell phone-camera video, running, and then a blurry figure following him. Appearing on screen are photos of Shawn and the woman that had been chasing him, some random nurse named Sarah. The reporter went on to say how Shawn had seemed to be injured and then had sprung into action, going wild and shouting about the stage's collapse. It did, and then chaos ensued. Luckily, it was a small crowd and no one was seriously injured.

Gus sets down his macaroni-covered fork with wide eyes. So _that's _what Shawn's doing? Playing the superhero? Running around like a comic book character? And how did he know about the stage's inevitable collapse? Gus knows that Shawn's been off lately – but this definitely has to be connected. He reaches for his phone and dials Juliet, who answers on the first ring.

"You saw it." She states confidently, as if she has no doubt that that had been what Gus had been doing.

Gus nods, though Juliet can't see him. "Yeah," he says glumly.

"Lassiter's here," Juliet informs, and suddenly Gus can hear noises in the background. A television, Lassiter grumbling something. "He thinks that Shawn's an idiot." There's a rustling. "Maybe he's a hero. But for now…"

"An idiot." Gus finishes.

"Agreed!" Lassiter shouts in the background.

Gus watches as the news logo melts away to make room for the Law & Order logo. He can hear it, all the way across town, on Juliet's television. He tries to swallow a lump in his throat away, and Juliet offers,

"Wanna come over?"

And Gus _ach-hems_ and then finally says, "Yes."

* * *

><p>"So, NBC is coming<em> here<em>? _Tomorrow_?" Ryan stresses, pacing back and forth in front of Shawn, wringing his hands. He's beat his footprints so many times in the carpet that Shawn worries he'll make holes.

"Yeah." Shawn puts his head down in his arms with a frustrated sigh. He didn't exactly want to take the interview – laying low seemed like a good idea at the time – but they were paying him and he needed some way to tell Juliet and Gus that he was fine.

"I should clean." Ryan surveys the disarray of his apartment – the beer bottles sitting next to the sink, the crumb-filled carpet, and the slightly dusty lamp fixtures.

"Dude – don't turn into Martha Stewart on me right now." Shawn says through his arms.

"I can't help it Shawn! NBC is going to be here and you're going to be interviewed on _my _couch. Everything has to be perfect!"

Shawn rises up from the couch and ignores his friend as he walks over to a table and begins to arrange things. He opens the fridge and shakes his head at the contents – even less than two days ago, when he had gotten here. He cracks a smile as Sarah walks into the kitchen, in a pair of Ryan's plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized white t-shirt. Her hair is damp, like she's just taken a shower, and her green eyes are shining.

Shawn can't deny that she is attractive – she _is, _but he loves Juliet. Sarah feels like a family member. She's stayed at Ryan's mainly because Shawn's worried about what might happen to her if he's not there to see it before she does. And of course, she had complied, insisting on checking him yesterday and this morning, making sure he didn't have a suburban hematoma…or whatever it was called.

"Hey," she smiles at him, twisting her blonde locks up into a ponytail. Shawn scrutinizes her for a moment, focusing on the wooden beads around her neck. Somehow in the chaos the other day he hadn't noticed them, but today they're prominent. He shakes his head for a moment, wondering if his mind is like an Etch-A-Sketch and he can just start fresh.

Sarah notices his stare and lifts the necklace up to him for further examination. "They're worry beads," she explains sheepishly. "My grandmother is into all that Zen stuff."

"Cool." Shawn nods, and then looks back at the fridge, realizing he's left it open this entire time.

"Ooh." Sarah makes a face. "We should get some food. What are you feeling like? Ryan?" she calls into the living room, where he's moved on to his DVD collection and begun to spill them out onto the floor so that he can organize them alphabetically.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"What are you feeling like for dinner tonight? Hamburgers? Hot dogs? Both?" she prompts. Shawn watches her with a mix of awe and amusement. All this time he'd thought _he _was the enigmatic one, but maybe she had switched it all around. She was some random stranger, marching into his life, and directing everything with such ease and composure it felt like she'd always been there, at least in the background, waiting to be colored into the painting.

"Uhh…" There's a _crash _noise and Ryan cranes his neck around the wall so that his head in his view. "Get whatever you guys want. I don't think I can eat."

Shawn rolls his eyes and Sarah laughs as he immerses himself back into the pile.

"Okay…we're leaving." Sarah warns, edging towards the door.

"Cool." Ryan doesn't seem to mind.

Shawn walks after her and closes the door behind them, like a curtain, exiting center stage.


	9. Bacon Bit Psychology

**A/N: It's really, really short, but I'll write more! Promise! :) Thanks all you out there reading, reviewing, checking this out just 'cause.**

* * *

><p>The thing about Sarah is that she loves shopping. And by love, Shawn means <em>love. <em>She methodically examines each and every box of cereal before selecting one from the middle, with a coupon for something else affixed to its front, which she promptly rips off and examines carefully. She walks from aisle to aisle, the cart slowly being pushed by Shawn, and then stops by the fresh produce section.

Shawn, a firm believer in filling up empty silence, asks, "Why did you decide to become a nurse?" He knows that she is one, firstly because of her knowledge, and secondly because she has told him. In fact, since two days ago they have been constantly talking back and forth about their personal lives. Sarah loves chocolate, the movie _Dodgeball, _and her grandmother. Her favorite color is yellow and her work shift is four days on and four days off. Luckily, that gives them another two to talk.

Sarah looks up from a tomato that she was touching gingerly, and haltingly, her brow furrows in thought at the question. "Well…I suppose I just really wanted to help people the only way I knew how," she hedges. "Taking away their pain."

Shawn stares at her for a moment, carefully studying her facial features, her hand movements, light and quick as she places three tomatoes into a bag. Then he looks away before she can see him watching.

They pass salad dressings and croutons and Shawn proposes, "Why are you still staying at Ryan's? I mean, it's not like I don't want you around – you cook and stuff, which is cool – but…don't you have other people to take care of and stuff?" he knows that this is skirting around the real question that he wants to ask, the underlying one that he is too guarded to make himself say aloud, _why do you care so much about me? _

Sarah's lips curve up into a small smile, as if she knows exactly what Shawn is trying to say. "Well, I don't think that you can handle being on your own."

"I've got Ryan."

"Definitely not what I meant." Sarah laughs and picks a bag of croutons up off the shelf. Scrutinizing the calorie intake, she continues, "You seem like the type of person that needs my help, is all. My grandmother's in a home, so she doesn't me around that much anyways. And my parents…" Her eyes cast away from the bag for a moment. "They're not around anymore. No brothers, no sisters." She shrugs and then dumps the bag in the cart.

Shawn bites his lip, unsure what to say next. _My dad's an ass and my mom left us when I was a kid? _That hardly seems like a consolation. What comes out instead is, "Hey, uh, we should probably get some bacon bits. I heard those are great in salads."

_I'm sorry. _

Sarah laughs. "Sure they are."


	10. Color my life with the chaos of trouble

**A/N: WOW! You guys are such awesome readers. Seriously, I never expected this to get so big or for it to even be more than a one-shot deal! As I said before, some of you don't have PMs enabled, so please fix that so I can thank each and every one of you! Someone reviewed that I'm a great writer and I can't let that go un-responded! Also - GiGiLiz: YES! SHULES! :D You're not alone. It WILL happen. I have a plan, trust me. Again - thank you everybody for reading!**

* * *

><p>Gus can't quite place his finger on it, but sometime between when he started working for the Santa Barbara Police Department and now, he, Juliet, and Lassiter formed a bond. It was never really a spoken sort of thing – just <em>there,<em> which is why, he supposes, they're all sitting on Juliet's couch, in her apartment, watching and not watching _Law & Order_, occasionally pulling up handfuls of popcorn from each of their bowls and commenting on the un-realisticness of the detective-solving. After all, they live the show. No, they live _better _than the show. And they dress better, too, Gus adds to himself.

"Gus?" Juliet prods him gently. "Gus?"

He blinks, slowly, and realizes that he's been sleeping the past three hours. The TV's off, and Bach is playing in the background. From past experience, Gus knows that Juliet calms down whenever symphonies are on. He rubs one eye and slowly props himself up. "Where's Lassiter?" he asks curiously.

"Went back to his place." Juliet shrugs, a sad smile pasted on her face.

"Oh," Gus says, almost inaudibly, realizing that Juliet was sad to see Lassiter go.

Juliet walks into her kitchen and opens the fridge. "Do you want something to drink?" she asks conversationally.

Gus ambles his way over to the counter. "Alright, sure."

She pours some type of juice into a glass and slides it Gus's way before asking, "Has Shawn…called you at all?"

Gus sighs, knowing it would eventually get to this. Juliet misses Shawn. _He _misses Shawn. Hell, even his _dad _might miss Shawn. But, if Shawn's nowhere to be found, then no one will ever contact him. He used to do it all the time when they were younger – disappearing for weeks at a time, calling from some dive bar or carnival, animatedly talking about a new job he'd gotten. "No, he hasn't." He lifts the glass to his lips and swallows a huge gulp, waiting for Juliet's response.

"Oh." She seems to deflate. "He hasn't been answering my calls."

Inwardly, Gus is arguing with himself. _Tell her…no, don't tell her, you don't even know what it is yet…no, you have to, she may be your future best friend's wife. _

"Juliet…" Gus hesitates. "Juliet, I think something's going on with Shawn."

Her eyebrow raises in curiosity. "Like what?"

"He's been very…" Gus chooses his words carefully. "Withdrawn."

Juliet nods slowly.

"He doesn't talk much; he doesn't joke around that much. I would say he's depressed, but I've seen this in other patients before. Something…traumatic happened to him, and now he's run away from it. It must have happened here, in Santa Barbara. It could have been a number of things…" Gus stops when he sees the look of horror on Juliet's face.

"Oh my God…" She presses her hand against her mouth. "Poor Shawn."

"I say we give it a week," Gus continues. "Then…we go find him. Because wherever he is, he needs some familiar faces."

* * *

><p><em>The next day…<em>

Shawn rises awake on the floor of Ryan's apartment (Sarah took the couch) and he yawns, stretches, and then says to himself, "NBC is interviewing me today." And it is no typical pseudo-psychic BS. This is him spilling his real feelings out. _Really _psychic. _Really _telling the truth. No more going back.

He showers, gets dressed in the clothes Ryan threw at him last night and told him he would look "TV-presentable", and sits down at the kitchen table, which Ryan is scrubbing furiously with Pine Sol.

"Dude – seriously?" Shawn attempts to bring his sleeve up to his nose to block out the scent but Ryan slaps it away.

"Don't get any boogies on it," He chides.

"_Boogies_? Okay, that's it – I'm out of here." Shawn pushes back his chair. "I'll go get breakfast. Sarah?" He calls, beckoning the young nurse from the living room.

"Right with you."

* * *

><p>Gus really wishes that this would stop happening.<p>

He's waiting to introduce yet another new medication to a private practice, when, on the TV mounted on the wall, Shawn appears. On an NBC interview. _Shawn. _He's sitting, one leg crossed the other, wearing Dockers and a long-sleeved, button-up shirt and loafers. His hair is tamed – and he's smiling, casually, like he hasn't a care in the world.

Gus wishes he could reach through the television and smack his best friend.

"Well, John," Shawn is saying, "I just did what any decent psychic would do. I _sensed_"-he gestured this, hands out-"it coming, and I ran to help. Of course, Sarah was running after me, thinking I was delusional."

"And what about this Sarah?" The interview asks. "Have you two always known each other?"

Gus feels his lunch turning in his stomach.

"I just met her that day," Shawn admits. "But we've become pretty close friends. She still insists on keeping an eye on me after that day." He lets a grin slip, and his bright white teeth showcase.

"Close friends?" The reporter is teasing, and Gus can tell Shawn's uncomfortable.

"Uh, not _that _close." Shawn lets out a nervous laugh. "I've got a, uh…girlfriend waiting for me back home."

_Back home? _

The reporter laughs as well, and then it's back to the regular news and Gus just sits there in his chair like stone, unable to move, not even when the secretary calls him into the office. He just sits and stews.

* * *

><p><em>A few hours earlier…<em>

After both Shawn and Sarah have had their fill of McDonalds' buttermilk pancakes and questionable-looking scrambled eggs, they sit down at the table and decide what to say and what not to say during the interview. Ryan sits at the head of it, a notebook opened up to a fresh page in front of him, a fancy-schmacy silver pen by its side. He's nervously fiddling with the collar of his shirt and then finally says, "Okay, so we can't take saying you're psychic off the table."

Shawn shoots him a glare. Then he looks over to Sarah, but she just shrugs, neutral in this argument. She knows that Shawn is psychic (or, well, Shawn told her the faux-psychic spiel, the one about their private detective agency and all of the cases and the extravagant revealings) but she doesn't really know him well enough to restrict him from blurting out anything personal on national television.

"Okay…" Ryan holds up his hands, as if in surrender, and then quickly scribbles down _address the psychic thing. _"So, they're going to get right down to what happened," Ryan warns. "They're going to want to know how you knew the stage was going to collapse. They'll want details, but not too many. America doesn't care what color the shirt was you were wearing when you saved the innocents."

Shawn nods, knowing Ryan is in his Take Charge mode. He can't wait until the interview is over, by then Ryan will sink back down into his calm and cool demeanor.

"They'll be coming in two hours," Sarah interrupts Ryan's mode. "Which means brush your teeth, because those god-awful eggs have given you the worst breath I've ever smelled and also, wash your face. Put on some cologne. Don't put on a suit jacket, just the long-sleeved shirt. Jacket says too much. The shirt says just enough."

Shawn's eyes sparkle the way they always do when he is amused. If he hadn't known Sarah was known, he would take her for one of those PR people, with their head sets and high heels. "Alright." He gets up from the table and goes into the bathroom, listening to Sarah and Ryan chat easily about _The Walking Dead _and something about pinstripes vs. polos.

Two hours seem to fly by, and all too soon, the NBC people are knocking at Ryan's door and he's opening it and waving his arm in a flourish and they're setting up lights and fancy technical things and using one whole side of Ryan's living room as the interview backdrop. For Shawn, he will get the middle of Ryan's espresso-colored couch, and for the interviewer, John Triponi, will get a hard-backed kitchen chair, which Ryan profusely apologizes for, but the older man simply waves him off. Two technical advisor-people clip a wire on Shawn and all of a sudden, they are crash-landing right into an interview.

"So, Shawn Spencer," John Triponi begins, his deep voice echoing through the small apartment. His brown eyes bore into Shawn's with such intensity he legitimately wants to turn away. "You're a psychic, correct?"

Shawn laughs. "I am indeed."

"You've had a private agency for…what is it, five years?"

"Almost six, actually," Shawn corrects politely. "My best friend Gus and I started the agency, never thinking it would have the success it does now. It's pretty awesome. We help a lot of people."

John smiles. "And when did you know that the stage was going to collapse?"

Shawn keeps the eye contact, hard as it is, but he manages to get a response out, "As soon as I felt it."

"_Felt_?" John seems to be teasing.

"Well, John, I just did what any decent psychic would do." Shawn confides, aware that he is telling the real, actual truth. "I _sensed _it coming, and I ran to help. Of course, Sarah was running after me, thinking I was delusional."

"And what about this Sarah?" John pries. "Have you two always known each other?"

Shawn knows instantly that John wants to know if they're _together, _and he regrets having taken this interview in the first place. Juliet's going to see this. And she's _going _to be pissed. "I just met her that day," he admits, carefully. "But we've become pretty close friends. She still insists on keeping an eye on me after that day." He smiles.

"Close friends?" John presses on.

"Uh, not _that _close." Shawn laughs again. "I've got a, uh...girlfriend waiting for me back home."

And then someone says, "Cut!" and it's all over, just like that.


	11. Keep Yourself Warm

**A/N: **Well, hello again fellow Psych lovers! This is a very delayed chapter, which I apologize for. I must have missed the creativity train's last stop, because I have hit a wall with this. But never fear! 'Cause honestly, I just got an idea right this very second, as Cage the Elephant is playing behind me and I'm staring at my wall. Thank you everyone that reads! This one is for all of you! And have a very happy Thanksgiving on Thursday, unless you don't celebrate the holiday, in which case, have a very happy Thursday! This title is credited to Frightened Rabbit's song, Keep Yourself Warm. They've played it on _Chuck. _Which is another fandom entirely.

_Allons-y! _

* * *

><p>Two days after the NBC interview, Sarah goes back to work, Ryan goes back to his web site and Shawn practically grows into his couch. At first San Diego was new and exciting (ach-hem, stage collapse anyone?) but now it's got the same old hum of Sunday afternoons in Santa Barbara – slow and tired.<p>

"Shawn!" Ryan shouts from behind his laptop. He's just been pelted for the fifth time with a paper ball. "Go do something. Get some fresh air. Call Juliet." The last two words are meant to be casual, but Shawn flinches and Ryan quickly backtracks. "I, uh, I mean…if you want to. Because you don't have to yet. But she most likely saw you in that interview and probably wants to know what's up." He pauses. "I think she'll understand."

Shawn shrugs, but he knows Ryan's right, as always. He knows that he _has _to sometime get back to Santa Barbara and tell Gus and tell Juliet and tell…his dad…but that time certainly can't be _now. _Now is _early. _Now, he doesn't have a grasp on anything. Moving back…is a huge deal. But that's not what Ryan's proposed. Ryan wants him to call his girlfriend. Which…he can do. Right? He can call his girlfriend. It's not that hard. He props himself up so that his back is leaning against the couch and he thumbs through his contacts list, slowly, passing **Gus**, landing on **Jules. **

Subtly, Ryan picks up his laptop and leaves the room.

Shawn takes a deep breath, then clicks **call**.

* * *

><p>Juliet is <em>immensely <em>bored. She's sitting at her desk, flipping through a file folder absently. She has no idea why she's doing this, after all – she doesn't have a case currently, not even a low-grade one. Lassiter is off somewhere, probably in the records room, where he always disappears to when he doesn't want to talk to anyone. And Juliet can relate – she doesn't really want to talk to anyone, either. Not Buzz or the Chief or Jeff the water cooler guy. Because, honestly – what would she have to say? All she can think about – all she _has _thought about – is Shawn. Where he is, what he's doing. She knows that he's alright – that's been evidenced by the NBC interview he did a few days ago. NBC! He was sitting there so relaxed, Juliet couldn't believe it. What Gus had said _had _to be a lie. Shawn needed to be okay, because Juliet needed someone to tell her that she was.

And over the past few days, she'd mostly been hanging out with Gus, going to lunch with him and talking pharmaceutical sales instead of addressing what they both knew to be a giant problem. Henry had tried talking to both of them separately but neither one would admit anything yet. And it's not like they have much to run with – all they know is that Shawn is staying with friend named Ryan and that he gave Ryan the murderer's address. The only reasonable conclusion Juliet can come to is that perhaps Shawn got a little too immersed in a case, like she had with the Yang dilemma. Maybe he had just needed a different atmosphere to return to. Which Juliet understands. She _has _to. But she can't just sit around waiting like a woman in distress. It's not like she can put a BOLO out on his motorcycle or track his cell phone though GPS – not without probable cause. And maybe she's done things before that weren't always technically considered "legal" but its different now and everyone knows it.

_Ringgggg! _Juliet practically dives on top of her phone, sees that Shawn's picture has popped up, and answers, almost breathlessly, "Shawn?"

"Hey, Jules,"

Oh, God. His voice sounds exactly the same and she hasn't realized how much she's missed it until now. "Shawn, what's going on?" She asks.

Silence.

"Shawn?" She checks to make sure the connection hasn't died.

"Hey, sorry, the reception's bad over here." It sounds like wind in the background and Juliet wonders if he's outside.

"Where's here?' Juliet asks.

"Uh…" Shawn hesitates. "I'm in San Diego."

"With your friend Ryan? The one who called in the murderer?" Juliet presses, hoping for some sort of details to keep her going for however long Shawn's absence will be.

"Uh…yeah."

Juliet sighs. "How are you, Shawn?"

"Me? I'm alright. What about you?" Shawn forces out a laugh and Juliet rolls her eyes. Typical of Shawn to just blow everything off like always.

"I'm good, when are you coming home, Shawn?" She decides to just ask right then. There's no better time.

Shawn hesitates. "I don't know yet."

"What's going on with you? Why are you hiding away?"

No answer.

Juliet continues. "I don't know what's going on with you, but Gus seems to think something traumatic happened to you. He's wondering if maybe a case hit too close to home." She doesn't bother to add that that last bit was _her _thinking, not Gus's, but if Juliet knows anything about Shawn, she knows that he will listen to Gus. Even if it is with the loosest interpretation that exists.

"Traumatic?" Shawn echoes. "No, no nothing like that happened."

"But something did."

"…yes."

"Just come back and tell me, Shawn." Juliet persists. "Just drive home and tell me. You don't have to do it over the phone."

Shawn sighs heavily. "Fine."


	12. You Chose Greatness

**A/N: **I couldn't wait :D

* * *

><p>Shawn had known this day had to come. Yet he procrastinates endlessly. He opens Ryan's fridge three times to pack "on the road" snacks, though he won't even be able to eat them because he will be on his motorcycle. He puts in a diet Coke, takes it out, puts it back, grabs the regular, and then finally puts that one away for the diet. He carefully Ziplocs some chopped-up pineapple Ryan had magically stored somewhere in his nearly-empty mammoth of a refrigerator. Then he takes extra care in lacing up his sneakers, putting his jacket on, and checking twice to make sure that he has everything.<p>

The truth is, Shawn's going to miss Ryan's little apartment. The hardwood floors, the soft lighting, unlike the kind in the station, which can be a bit harsh and glaring at times. The breakfast nook, the tasty cereals, the soft couch, the expansive collection of DVDs. The oriental rugs by the door, the constant _click-clack_ing away as Ryan types, the random pictures of family, friends, and silhouettes scattered around. It's been about half a week, but it already feels like yet another place he's proud to refer to as 'home'.

But Juliet needs him, and what kind of boyfriend would he be to desert his one-and-only during a time when they both need something to cling to? He glances at the stoop, where Ryan's sitting outside, waiting for him. It's dusk now, the stars beginning to shine their way onto the black sky. He's got a book and a beer next to him, but they're untouched.

Shawn slowly opens the door and shuts it behind him, setting down a backpack Ryan's given him to take back home, and grunts as he sits. "So…" he begins, not knowing exactly how to thank someone that is almost as good a friend as Gus, but with a stronger stomach. "We've had some good times, huh?"

Ryan looks at him in a way that simply says, _no kidding. _His green eyes are a little dark and Shawn wonders if it's a trick of the lack of light or if maybe he's a little melancholy, too. "I had a good time." he says easily.

Shawn smiles widely. "So did I, man. And I just wanted to tell you that I, uh, appreciate you letting me sit around on my ass all this time. But I've gotta get going, you know? Get back to my old, new-"he amends-"life."

"Are you going to tell them?" Ryan asks, reaching for his beer.

Shawn doesn't even try to pretend like he doesn't know what Ryan's asking. "Yeah," he states confidently. Then, he stops. "No. Maybe. I don't know, actually. Maybe I'll just go for the usual technique – winging it and hoping for the best."

"Always a smart approach." Ryan takes a swig off his bottle, sets it down, and then reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a blue business card, with his credentials and phone numbers written down on it, and hands it to the psychic. "_Use _these numbers," he says in a tone that insinuates he knows Shawn won't. "And call for anything, anytime. The burdens of being an insomniac." He adds, by way of explanation.

Shawn nods solemnly, and puts it in the inner pocket of his jacket. "Thanks. And I will. Maybe we'll need your expertise for a case."

Ryan nods and then looks up at the sky.

They stay that way for a few moments, staring, both of them wondering of the same variation: what the hell they'll be doing next.

Ryan almost wants to ask Shawn how he's going to tell Juliet he's lied to her all these years about himself, but the more he thinks about asking, the more he decides not to. It's Shawn's business and he's always been a private person about his feelings. He casts a sideways glance at him. He won't say that Shawn's changed – it's been way too short a time and not enough pop-culture references for _that _to happen, but he is a little different. A new glint in his eye, a little less bounce to his step. But Ryan knows that it's not a bad thing, not for a man who has always technically been considered a 'boy', even in his early-thirties.

At the same time, Shawn's contemplating hooking Ryan and Sarah up. God knows Ryan needs a girlfriend, one more accepting and take-charge in a good way, not a search-through-your-cell-phone-way. Sarah will be perfect. She's got a stable job, helps people, cares for family, she dresses nice, attractive. He makes a mental note to make this happen the moment this psychic business blows over.

"I should probably get going." Shawn stands up and hoists his bag onto his shoulders, and straightens them, physically bracing himself for the inevitable bone-crushing bear hugs that no doubt will be doled out by Juliet and Gus. For Ryan, he holds out a hand. "I really appreciated this," he says, and Ryan stands up. They both shake, and then Shawn heads off, once again, on the road.

* * *

><p>Juliet's sitting behind her desk, idly tapping a Bic pen against a memo, practically in the same position she was hours ago. Except this time, Chief Vick gave her an assignment but she doesn't want to do it. Really, she should be home by now, but she's stayed back because Shawn said he would meet her here. And it's late, really late. She's almost worried that he won't show up. But he <em>has <em>to.

Lassiter's even here, behind his own desk, jacket lying on top, staring off into space. He's there for Juliet and Juliet is there for him and she feels reassurance in that. Five years ago, she never would have been so confident in that statement.

Gus runs through the station, dragging his jacket behind him excitedly. "It's true, is it?" he asks right away, his eyes wide. Juliet can liken him to a kid on Christmas morning the way he's all rambunctious, almost. It _is _his best friend…

Juliet nods. "He's coming." _At least, he better. _

Gus quickly throws his jacket on Buzz's desk, knocking off a photo frame and dismissing it, and then settles down into a chair to wait. He leans halfway out of it, as if readying himself to burst off it.

Just as Gus is about to open his mouth to say something to break the silence, Shawn sidles into the station. His hair is all mussed from his helmet, one hand holding his jacket, the other his backpack. He sets them both down carefully and gently, not akin to the reckless abandon with which he usually handles everything. Juliet notices this and wonders if Gus does too.

"Who turned out the lights?" He attempts a pathetic joke, running a hand through his hair.

"_Shawn_!" Juliet shouts, and she rushes to embrace him. Gus follows suit.

"Okay guys," Shawn smiles, "you're crushing me." He steps back to assess the room, sees Lassiter sitting at his desk. "Lassie! Didya miss me?" He holds out his arms, as if almost expecting the older man to show him affection. Lassie, the most stoic one in the station.

Lassiter rolls his ice-blue eyes. "Yeah, Spencer, I missed you. He's back right, I can go?" He directs the latter question at Juliet, who just stares. He grabs his suit jacket impatiently and stomps out of the room.

"What's his deal?" Shawn asks, even though they all know that Lassiter bottles up his feelings, especially ones involving people he may (or in Shawn's case, may not) care about.

"Forget him," Gus advises. He scrutinizes Shawn up and down. "Where have you been the past few days?"

"Uh…" Shawn sinks down into a chair, Juliet sitting next to him. "I was with a friend in San Diego. I've known him a long time. I was keeping him some company."

"And is that all you were doing? Keeping him some company?" Gus's words are laced with skepticism.

Shawn's eyes flit downwards.

Gus continues. "Look, Shawn, none of us know what's happening. Clearly. But you need to give us some insight because we're all worried sick. Even your _dad's _asked about you. This is serious."

"Okay, okay." Shawn tilts his head back. "There's something I haven't told any of you guys. Well, actually I have. Millions of times. Because I have to tell you again, but it's different."

"What are you getting at, Shawn?" Juliet asks in exasperation, in no mood for the usual antics.

"See, the thing is…" Shawn exhales slowly, taking his time to form the words. "I'm psychic."

Gus sighs. "Shawn, really?"

Juliet's expression doesn't change.

"Really." Shawn throws up his arms. "I discovered it a few days ago and I went to talk to my buddy Ryan about it, okay?"

"But you already knew you were psychic…" Juliet says slowly.

Shawn braces himself – for what, he's not exactly sure. A slap, a screaming fit, a break-up. "I wasn't…really. Before."

"You _lied_?"

"I only did it because Lassie was going to throw me behind the steel bars!" Shawn says theatrically. "I didn't want to end up in jail just because I was right about a crime, so I made up some ridiculous thing to get out of it and next thing I know it's turned into a career, so why stop?" His voice falters a bit. "Even my dad kind of…got on the train. I mean, not fully. He was like Snape in _Harry Potter_, what with the whole good versus evil thing-!"

"_Shawn._" Gus's eyes bore into his best friends'. "You're serious?"

"As serious as I know that Lassie's going to walk around that pillar in ten seconds behind Chief Vick with a case." Shawn quickly grabs Juliet's hands. "I am _so _sorry. Unbelievably so that I could never tell you. But there was never a time, you know?" He says this all very rushed and quickly, knowing he won't have time for a heart-to-heart once the case begins. "I wanted to, I really did. But I didn't want to hurt you."

Juliet's torn between wanting to be furiously upset and cry. Shawn's absolutely crazy right now. He was back then, with his weird impression of her at that diner and right now, as he's waving his arms, gesticulating like always, blathering on about being _psychic. _Except…maybe she can see what he's saying. Maybe he's really, honestly serious about this. She always had her suspicions about him being a liar about it all anyway. She looks up into her boyfriend's eyes – those alluring sometimes blue, sometimes green eyes and thinks…_I should trust him. _

"I trust you." She whispers, and is surprised she's saying it aloud.

Right at that second, Chief Vick rounds the corner, Lassiter on her heels, itching to dive into a case head-on now that the Shawn debacle's over.

"Shawn," She eyes the man. "Seems like you're here conveniently. We've got a case."

"Told you." Shawn sing-songs gleefully at his best friend. Slowly, he extends his fist.

Gus, rolling his eyes, complies.

* * *

><p>At one-seventeen in the morning, the Santa Barbara Police Department is in full swing. Chief Vick is behind her desk dishing out orders, Lassiter's barking at officials in his phone, Juliet's flipping through folders, looking for information, and Gus and Shawn…are back in the Psych office, having a serious discussion about how their life has now taken on the form of that barely-heard-of Nicholas Cage movie, <em>Next. <em>Shawn, which goes without saying, is Nick Cage, Juliet is Jessica Biel and Gus is that old man in the garage Shawn can't remember the name of. It's all very…_un-_dramatic.

And really, it _should _be. But as soon as Shawn said the truth, everyone scattered into their respective roles they usually fell in. It's a normal day and Shawn can't help but feel a little disappointed by the lack of theatrics going on.

Right after he told Gus and Juliet, the Chief had whisked Lassie and Jules off to conduct case business, shouting a few bits of information for Gus and Shawn to go off. "After all, you _are _psychic," Chief had said in that tone that basically implied he damn well better come up with a vision in the next few hours or there would no longer be any money dropping into the 'Shawn needs a new iPhone' bank.

So Shawn and Gus had gone back to the Psych office and for a half-hour or so, Gus just stared at Shawn while Shawn drew a diagram on the glass board that connected everyone in the case to the cast of _Next. _

Gus, after countless minutes of arguing with himself over whether to believe Shawn on one of his harebrained thoughts again, finally joined in, hoping that this ridiculous idea would take his mind off everything else.

"Lassiter has to be Julianne Moore, there's no way around it." Shawn states confidently, scribbling a stick figure with curly hair.

"He's never believed you were psychic though," Gus points out. "Why would he want to harvest government secrets_ now_?"

"Because it's _for real _now," Shawn retorts. "Gus, don't be this crevice in my arm." He turns back to the board, but falters. He slowly turns around. "Do you…believe me?" he asks.

Gus sighs. "Shawn, I don't know."

"I can prove it." Shawn offers hesitantly.

Gus raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Okay then. Do it."

Shawn gleefully smiles, looks down at his watch, and then points at the radio. "Ten bucks says that that song 'Moves Like Jagger' is playing right now."

Gus shrugs, walks over to the radio, and clicks it on.

"_With them moves like Jagger, I've got the moves like Jagger-!" _Gus quickly switches the pop song back off in irritation and spins around to face his best friend. "So? They play that all the time."

Shawn bites his lip, trying to think of the vision he'd had just minutes before he and Gus had stepped into the office. _What else had happened…_?

Ah, yes!

"You're going to get a call on your phone right now from that blind date you went on two days ago!" Shawn exclaims triumphantly. Then he recoils. "Dude, a blind date, seriously? I could have set you up with this fantastic girl. Oh, wait…I'm planning on getting her with Ryan." He rubs his chin in thought while Gus's phone chimes.

"Hello?" Gus walks into the adjoining kitchen, leaving Shawn to bust out a quick, ten-second victory dance that involves a lot of fist pumps and hip thrusts.

Gus returns. "Shawn, what the hell are you doing?"

Shawn slowly shifts back into 'standing stance'. "Uh…nothing."

"Anyway…so tell me how this all started." Gus leans up against his desk.

So Shawn does. He starts with the first few little visions he gets – about phone calls and things like that and then tells the scary dreams he'd had about the murderer and then him running off to speak with Ryan and staying and meeting Sarah and the stage collapse and the hugely-paid NBC interview and then him calling Juliet and going back home and…now they're here.

Gus sits down in his chair slowly. "Okay. Wow."

Shawn sits down beside him. "I know, man. I didn't want to believe it myself. I mean, _me. _I know this goes against my incredibly fit physique and chocolate-y waved hair, but I am not superhero material."

Gus snorts. "You don't need to tell me that."

"So what do we do now?" Shawn asks.

"Well…" Gus slowly grins. "We could sit here and try to solve a kidnapping case _or…_"

"Or?" Shawn asks excitedly.

"Or we could make like a Marvel montage and sew together some badass costumes."

"Gus, you're a genius," Shawn praises.


	13. Mr Lexicon and PsychMan

**A/N: **I'm having a lot of fun with this! :) Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. **CheekyBrunette, **I put a little _Doctor Who _reference in this for you.

* * *

><p>Seven and a half hours later, Shawn and Gus stand back and admire their work appraisingly. Well, actually, Gus admires his work. Shawn mostly supplied the soundtrack (Tears For Fears was never so good) and snacks – Doritos and Red Bulls.<p>

"This is so kick_ass_." Shawn holds up his dark green and yellow jumpsuit. Emblazed across the chest in bold purple script is PSYCH MAN, a glimmering green cape attached to the back, and dark green boxers over the legs. Gus had told him that the traditional briefs-over-tights deal was the way to go but Shawn refused to follow 'old school' regulation.

"Damn straight." Gus looks admiringly at his red-and-purple jumpsuit, with the words MR. LEXICON printed in bold block letters across the chest. (Shawn had questioned his superhero name, but Gus had hastily explained that of the two of them, he was obviously the more equipped in vocabulary, to which Shawn had scoffed at). He, of course, obliged not to use a cape as _The Incredibles _had pointed out to him that unfortunately, capes can get you sucked into airplane turbines. To which, once again, Shawn merely scoffed at, saying he would have already predicted that possibly happening to him anyway. Which, probably, he would.

"We should go out fighting in these things." Shawn clenches his fists, as if in fighting stance.

"We _do _have a kidnapping to investigate, you know," Gus reminds.

"Eh," Shawn waves his hand, dismissive. "Let's go to the station and show these off."

* * *

><p>The police station is complete and utter chaos as the mayor's daughter has been kidnapped and per usual during a Santa Barbara investigation, it's all slammed doors, shouted news, five-minute lunches, and exasperated meetings. And Juliet loves every second of it. She stands there, in a beige jacket and skirt, holding a coffee mug to her lips and smiles. She really loves her job and Chief Vick and sometimes Lassiter and Buzz and <em>Shawn – <em>oh, thinking of Shawn, sweet, quirky, apparently _psychic _Shawn. And she should be upset – she feels she should, that he lied all those years and now there's supposedly truth to it all, which maybe is or isn't true, she's never exactly sure with that man. But she loves him and missed him so much she doesn't really care that he lied. In fact, she always had a little niggling suspicion that perhaps he was lying just to earn a quick buck. He seemed like one of those drifter types, anyhow. But he stayed all through the years, persisting and nagging and flouncing around and soon he was a regular and a flirter and a charmer and Juliet fell under his spell almost immediately after he came up to her in the diner and teased her about his chair.

"O'Hara, I need you." Chief Vick steps out of her office with a folder in her free hand, but suddenly she whips around and murmurs, "_What in the hell_?" and Juliet looks over, too.

"Oh my God…" She puts a hand over her mouth in absolute shock.

Sauntering in the station are Shawn and Gus. Or, more accurately, Mr. Lexicon and Psych-Man. They both look absolutely ridiculous with their jumpsuits and Shawn's cape and their underwear over the tights, like Batman and Robin, but more relevant and snarky. Shawn runs a hand through his air all dramatic, probably channeling Tom Cruise in _Top Gun, _which he'd confessed to Juliet before that that's what he did sometimes to appear sexy in front of her.

Which Juliet finds flattering but right now it's kind of awkward because everyone knows that this man is her boyfriend and now she feels ridiculous by association. But she smiles anyway and swivels a bit to see Lassiter's reaction. His eyes are wide and his hand instinctively reaches for his gun but Chief Vick sends him a glare that makes him slowly pull his hand away.

"Hello everyone!" Shawn shouts. "I know you are all extremely amazed and jealous of our outfits. But, if you make a reasonable down payment and give something pineapple-flavored I am sure we can figure something out."

Buzz raises his hand but again, Chief Vick sends her trademark glare and he slowly lowers it and walks away, to the file room, maybe.

The hustle and bustle in the prescient resumes and Shawn looks disappointedly to Gus, who just shrugs and walks over to the Chief.

"Mr. Guster, I assume you and Spencer have got something for us?" She asks crisply. Gus, in a panic, faces Shawn, who holds his smiling face, thinking quickly. The information the Chief had given to them in a rushed moment was something like the mayor's daughter, Amelia, got kidnapped from their home just yesterday afternoon by two men in black clothing, blah, blah, blah, traditional ransom case. Shawn knew enough to speculate on what was going to happen without getting a vision sent from the Gods of the Future or whatever they liked to be called. Most likely, a phone call or cryptic letter demanding a bazillion dollars or something will be sent and then the money will be wired, the bad guys will be caught, and then the day will end with some Chinese takeout sitting on top of Jules's desk. Rather than take the cynical approach, Shawn decides to play it out the way he always does.

"Actually, _yes, _Chief, I have gotten something." Shawn raises his hand to his hand and wiggles his fingers, as if trying desperately to procure the information from the 'spirits'. "They'll get a letter, demanding a jet, unmarked bills, champagne. Psych-Man predicts that…it'll be Veuve Clicquot. Very expensive. Maybe give them some small doses? I've heard that is a _quite _fantastic drink, however. Maybe get us in that, Chief?"

Chief Vick ignores everything but the fact that a letter is soon to arrive. "Okay, 'O Hara, get the parents on the phone."

Juliet nods and goes over to her desk. Shawn and Gus follow her. Juliet's pressing buttons and waiting for a pick-up while Shawn and Gus argue. Again.

"You know, I could really go for some nachos right now." Shawn puts a hand over his stomach, almost reassuring it that it would soon be satisfied.

"You know that's right." Gus practically murmurs. "With cheese and jalapenos, too."

"Ugh, no way. Just cheese. And maybe olives."

"Olives? Are you crazy? These are nachos we're talking about."

"Are _you _crazy? Why would I want to burn my mouth while trying to quell my undying hunger?"

"Ooh, _quell_." Gus teases. "You _did _study for your SATs."

"Shut it, Lexicon." Shawn's about ready to propose that he and Gus find their way to the nearest Wal-Mart to get ahold of this soon-to-be-devoured-snack, but he grabs onto the corner of Juliet's oak desk and winces, his vision of the station melting away to reveal a dim, dark basement, with an eleven-year-old girl cowering in the corner. She's wheezing and Shawn immediately recognizes because he heard the same sharp breaths from his and Gus's asthmatic friend, Dennis. He scans the room, looking for a clue as to where she is, and sees a dock outside the window. Oh, typical. Everything takes place by the water, doesn't it? A door opens by the head of the stairs, light seeping through, and two men, still in masks, stand in front of her.

"What's going on with her?" The one asks.

"Asthma." The other one identifies.

"Well do you have a frickin' inhaler or something?"

The other one throws up his arms. "Why would I have one on me?"

And then the room shimmers away and Shawn feels his knees give out. He meets the cold floor and blearily opens his eyes.

Gus and Juliet are hovering above him. "Shawn?" Juliet asks worriedly.

Shawn just blinks.

"Probably a side effect of his vision." Gus waves his hand in front of his friend's face. "Shawn?"

Shawn slaps his hand away and then slowly sits up. "Guys…we may have a problem."

"What is it, Shawn?" Juliet asks.

Shawn slowly exhales a deep breath. "The girl that was kidnapped, she's having an asthma attack."

"Right now?" Gus asks, his eyes widening.

"Yeah, but she's by the water." Shawn offers, which, isn't exactly helpful, since there are a million bodies of water in Santa Barbara.

"The dock?" Gus asks. "On a boat?"

"No, it's a sort of building, one with a basement." Shawn looks off in the distance for a moment and Juliet's staring at him in disbelief. She really believes him now, she realizes. He looks genuinely lost, like he's frozen in thought.

"O'Hara, did you get ahold of the parents?" Chief walks over to where Juliet, Gus, and Shawn, are all sitting on the floor.

Juliet blushes. "Uh, the line was busy and Shawn kind of had an…episode." She looks to her boyfriend who signals he's fine.

"Well-!" But the Chief is interrupted by a ringing phone and Juliet gets up, answers, and then listens intently. Wordlessly, she hands the phone to the Chief, who gestures for Lassiter to come over.

Shawn, already on a plan of his own, rushes over to Buzz's desk, rooting through the doors. Triumphantly, he retrieves his target: an asthma inhaler. He'd seen the younger man with one before and this would have to work. A plan was better than nothing.

"Shawn?" Juliet shouts after her boyfriend, but he's already taking off and Gus rushes after him while Vick relays a call from the parents in distress about a letter they had just gotten in the mail.

* * *

><p>Somehow, being a superhero seems cooler in the movies, Shawn thinks as he jumps over random objects and sprints to the Snack Shack, a typical Santa Barbara, beach-esque name for a place that sold hot dogs and sodas while people came in or left the marina. It's closed, that much is obvious, being that it is eight-something in the morning, but a combination of suspicion and premonition lead Shawn there. He knows from a brief stint working as a dancing waiter that the Snack Shack has a basement, for whatever reason, since they never store anything in there that he could recall in his time there.<p>

Gus is following behind, doing his best to keep up. He's been unusually quiet about the whole thing – on a regular case, he would have shouted and cursed Shawn out for being so spontaneous and ridiculous but now…this isn't exactly regular.

After a few seconds of sprinting like Olympic track stars, Shawn and Gus run to the back of the shack, in front of the door that leads to the basement.

Shawn stares at it for a moment, contemplative, and Gus anxiously shifts his weight from foot to foot.

"What I wouldn't give for a sonic right now…" Shawn mutters.

"_What_?" Gus asks in confusion.

Shawn ignores him, patting his pockets and muttering. "Ah ha!" he exclaims, withdrawing his handy Swiss army knife. He would – almost – hug Henry for making him carry the damn thing every day of his life. Cursing under his breath, he finally extracts…

"A real screwdriver." Shawn shakes his head. "Well, it'll have to do."

"Don't tell me you're picking a lock with a screwdriver." Gus rolls his eyes. "You realize that's impossible, right?"

Shawn turns in exasperation towards him. "_Gus,_" he says, in that frenzied tone that he always adopts when in frustration, "do _you _realize that we _specialize _in the impossible?" he turns back to the lock and fiddles with it for a few moments before the door swings open. Quickly, he pockets the Swiss.

"No way." Gus says aloud to himself. "Nope. I refuse to believe this."

Shawn, ignoring him, practically hops down the slick stairs and bounds into the basement, halting to a stop.

The two men, now sans masks, are still freaking out and the little girl is very obviously struggling to breathe, her lips starting to tint blue. Without a second thought, Shawn launches himself at her, pulling out Buzz's inhaler, and pressing it to the girl's lips. Gratefully, she grabs onto it with both hands. After a few moments, her chest begins to ease up and with a sigh of relief; Shawn leans back on his heels.

"What the hell?" the taller, blonde-haired man asks. He quickly pulls a handgun out of his jacket that Shawn has long since grown immune to and points it in the psychic's face.

"Oh, come on." Shawn flourishes his arm. "You already have a kidnapping charge on you; do you really want to tack murder to that list?" He's pretty much terrified of what will happen next, though, once again, he doesn't show it. How can he, when he's got an eleven-year-old child next to him, having an asthma attack and Gus outside frantically dialing the SBPD. Though anyone else would be loath to admit it, Shawn's the only sane one in this situation so he absolutely will _not _show fear.

The other, a shorter, chestnut-haired man who clearly isn't the brains of the duo, shrugs.

"Who _are_ you?" The man demands, the gun shaking slightly. Oh, go figure. He's one of those shaky kidnappers. They barely make it through the act itself, wearily demand a ransom through a letter because they don't have the balls to call and demand something up with a computerized voice, and then at the very end give back the kid 'cause they never really stood a chance. Shawn's seen it all before – literally, he's been on a soap opera, fielded a bank hold-up, stopped countless murders from killing one more innocent.

So, really, what's this kidnaping in the grand gist of things?

Oh, wait, and he's also wearing his superhero costume.

"My name is Psych-Man. I'm a psychic detective." Shawn put a hand against his chest and then gestured with that to the child next to him. "And this little girl…her name is…" Shawn scrambles to remember. "Uh,"

"Lucy," The little redheaded, freckled child squeaks. Her wide blue eyes shine with something like shock and wonder at this – literal – superhero, waltzing into the place and helping her.

"_Lucy_, is young and scared and probably really hungry. Maybe for some mac 'n' cheese. I'm thinking the kind that's sprinkled with bacon…" Shawn trails off for a minute, fantasizing this delicious vision for a moment before shaking his head and continuing. "So let's all put our weapons down…" he slowly moves his hands to the floor. "And breathe. 'Cause in about five seconds, my fellow SBPD is going to come storming down those stairs…" He mentally counts. "Okay, five more seconds…"

Nothing.

The man clicks the safety off the gun. "You were saying…_Psych-Man_?"

Shawn opens his mouth to respond but instead Gus – or rather, Lexicon man – comes shooting into the room, running at top speed and slamming into the man with the gun. Somehow, he wrestles the gun out of his hands – Shawn will later recollect this memory, smiling – and points it at the brown-haired man, keeping a jumpsuit-encased leg on the man on the floor.

"Now," He says steadily, evenly. "Everyone calm down."

The corner of Shawn's mouth quirks up into a semi-smile. "Gus," he says approvingly.

At that point, Lassiter and Juliet descend the stairs, guns drawn, yelling out, "SBPD! Put your hands in the air!"

Gus drops his gun and so does the other man. Lucy hesitantly stands and Shawn protectively gets in front of her.

"Hi, Lucy," Juliet says gently. "My name's Juliet, I'm just going to take you outside, okay? Your parents are waiting."

Slowly, the young girl walks over to the detective, reaching for her hand. She grasps it and then quickly lets go and runs back to Shawn, enveloping him in a hug.

"Thank you," she whispers, and then runs back to Juliet.

Gus joins Shawn as they watch the other members of the police department do their business.

"What a day, huh?" Gus asks, working out the kink in his neck.

"Gus?"

"Yeah, Shawn?"

"Can we…not work any cases for a few hours?"

Gus, relieved, proposes a question. "Hamburgers?"

They fist bump.


	14. Burgers and Mayhem part one

**A/N: **Hello again! Geez, I'm just getting tons of ideas over here, it's great. You guys leave such nice reviews! **TheLonerAlto13,** yes, indeed there IS a _Doctor Who _magazine! I'm sure you can find it at your local comic book store, Barnes & Noble, or online.

_Disclaimer: _The only reason I had 'Heather' in this section of the chapter drink a **vodka neat with four olives **is because **Britta **on another show I absolutely love,_ Community_, drinks it and I have no knowledge of alcoholic drinks whatsoever. Other than that...I also do not know what the inside of the In-N-Out Burger looks like nor do I know if that's even the correct name! I kind of just grab things and hope they work out!

Also - I'm thinking of bringing Ryan and Sarah back? What do you think, should I pair them up?

* * *

><p>Shawn is <em>immensely <em>grateful for In-N-Out Burger. So very, very grateful. It felt like his poor stomach was eating itself, that's how long it had been since he'd eaten. He and Gus were planning on just going to the joint, ridiculous costumes be damned, but Juliet had wanted to tag along – there _was _unfinished business to talk about – so they went back to the Psych office, changed into 'regular' clothes, and went back to the station to get Jules.

Now they're sitting down at the restaurant, waters, sodas, and beers topping the table, and reminiscing about past cases. Juliet's laughing so hard her cheeks are flushed scarlet and Gus is choking on his fancy Heineken beer. Shawn rubs a tear from his eye, remembering that faithful day he paraded around with a 'boy' cat and pretended he could talk to it.

He's still a little apprehensive about owning up to all these cases he was basically lying through his teeth though (and they were, _all _the cases) because it's _Jules _and he loves her and he doesn't want to risk losing her over something so…foolish. But honestly, she's taking it quite well, if he does think so himself. She's smiling and cracking jokes and genuinely happy, so maybe it really _didn't _matter all that time. But Shawn is definitely not going to take that for granted.

Of course…that doesn't mean he can't enjoy a nice handful of salty, delicious fries. He grabs someone and almost winces at the hot temperature, but he manages past it and smiles. _Ahh. _There's nothing better.

"So, are you two going to continue the Psych-Man and Mr. Lexicon? Or is the jumpsuit duo done?" Juliet asks with a smirk, taking a bite of her double cheeseburger. She wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin and then laughs. "You two looked so _ridiculous. _I swear, Chief Vick blew a gasket."

Shawn's brows furrow together. "Come to think of it, Gus, they _were _pretty uncomfortable in the, er, bottom area."

Juliet raises an eyebrow.

"Wedgies," Gus clarifies knowingly.

"But it wasn't that bad," Shawn admits. "I felt pretty cool going down those stairs."

"Of course you did, you were wearing a cape." Gus says.

"Which _you _refused to wear!"

"I refuse to get sucked into airplane turbines, _Shawn_!"

"Airplane turbines?" Juliet asks in confusion.

"It's from _The Incredibles," _Gus explains.

Juliet shrugs.

"Hey, do you think Chief Vick's pissed we never gave our statements?" Shawn asks Juliet.

"I'd say so," Juliet swirls her straw through her glass. "I had to sneak out. It was pretty tough, considering."

"Considering…?"

"Lassiter went off on a date."

"A _date_?" Shawn asks in disbelief. "Aw, Jules, why didn't you tell us? I could have made fifty jokes by lunch! Not including the ones about his hair. Like the fact that he looks like a very long-lost distant cousin of a Keebler elf."

Juliet, smiling, shakes her head. "I don't know, he was all mysterious about it."

Suddenly, Lassiter came through the door of the In-N-Out Burger, a brunette woman hanging on his arm.

"Oh, no way," Shawn's eyes widen with glee.

Gus, eyes not wavering from Lassiter, reaches across the table for his drink, grabs Juliet's by accident, and then makes a face at the fruity cocktail.

Juliet grabs it back with a face, pushing it away from her.

"We've _got _to investigate this." Shawn slides out of the leather booth.

"And he doesn't even wait for dessert," Gus grumbles under his breath, dutifully following behind. He quickly strides back, grabs a fry, and then sprints away again. He catches up with Shawn, who's already holding court behind the hostess stand.

"Excuse me," he says to the waiter. "Gimme your vest."

The bored early-twenties waiter just stares at him.

Hastily, Shawn withdraws his wallet, pulls out a coupon for a free Krispy Kreme donut, and then dismisses the boy with an annoyed, "Look, man, I never carry cash and I seriously love Krispy Kreme so you'd better _value _that."

The kid tosses him his vest with an agitated sigh and then stomps off.

Shawn quickly ducks down behind the stand, pulling his arms through the vest holes.

"Shawn, what are we doing exactly?" Gus asks, genuinely confused.

Shawn's in one of his zones, where he gets exasperated if anyone else questions his intentions. "The way I see it, Gus, we only have a few minutes to mess with Lassiter because his date is going to inevitably pretend she's got to _powder her nose _in the ladies room and then disappear out the back door. And that's _not _something I need to see in a vision to figure out." He checks to make sure he's got the vest on properly, peeks up above the stand to see Lassiter and his beautiful date approaching, and then mumbles, "Wish me luck."

Gus, squatted down beneath a hostess stand on a Friday night, staring at a pair of scoffed Reeboks, almost wants to laugh at himself.

"Ah, hello, table for one, correct?" Shawn's standing, facing Lassiter and wearing his trademark grin that's gotten him out of heated situations with guns and physical altercations with pissed-off women.

"_Spencer_," Lassiter grumbles. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, odds and ends," he says airily. "Sometimes the Psych office can be a bit empty, you know, and I need _something _to pay the bills. Did you ever look at the amount of money the SBPD pays consultants? It's _insulting, _is what it is."

Gus, still squatting on the floor, shoves Shawn's leg.

Shawn quickly recovers from the wobble and smiles innocently at the brunette woman still holding Lassiter's suit-covered arm.

"You're a consultant for the police department?" she asks curiously.

"Well, more of a psychic detective, really." Shawn confesses. "But yeah, I do help your little _friend _here with some cases."

"Really?" the brunette puts a hand on her hip. "Tell me: what am I thinking?"

Shawn, sliding into the usual character attitude he takes on when impersonating a psychic sleuth, puts two fingers to his temple. "Hmm." But this time, he actually concentrates. Legitimately, honestly, concentrates. And my _God, _there's a _slew _of thoughts running through this woman's mind. She's thinking about how good the place smells, she wants that guy's drink two tables over, Lassiter smells too strongly of Old Spice…and she hopes she didn't forget to DVR _Breaking Bad _before she left her apartment.

"_You _need to be a little less heavy-handed with your cologne," Shawn advises Lassiter, giving him a pitying look.

Lassiter looks to the woman, who sheepishly smiles an apology.

"Unbelievable," the woman claps her hands over her chest. "What color am I thinking of?"

"Pink."

"Number?"

"Five."

"Movie?"

"_Road Trip – _really?"

"Drink?"

"Voda, neat. Four olives."

"Truly amazing!" the woman gushes.

Behind the hostess stand, Gus rolls his eyes.

"You two work together?" the woman turns to Lassiter to confirm this. Begrudgingly, he does. "I bet you two have a pretty good time, huh?"

"You could say that." Lassiter grits through his teeth.

"So, uh, table for one?" Shawn grabs a menu from the stand, looking directly at Lassiter.

"Actually, Heather here is my _date_," Lassiter snarls.

Shawn chuckles. "Of course." He grabs another menu, and then gestures for the two to follow him. 'Stealthily', Gus grabs a menu himself and follows the trio, hiding his face in the pages.

Shawn leads Lassiter and Heather to a vacant booth. "Here you are. Now, can I start you off with anything to drink?"

Heather smiles. "I'll just take a Coke, for now." She looks to Lassiter, sitting across from her, but he doesn't smile.

"Water. No ice." He demands with a bored tone.

Shawn nods, and then walks with Gus to the drink station, heading right for the cups. Gus doesn't question his best friend's knowledge of the location of such items – he's long since stopped being surprised by his eccentricity.

"So, what are we doing, exactly?" Gus asks, setting the menu down.

Shawn looks up to the ceiling. "Well…I figured I'd mess with Lassie until he figures out that his date is an undercover cop." His blasé tone makes the conversation seem casual, but Gus's reaction is anything but.

"_What_? Are you serious?" Gus's eyes widen like marbles. "Why would an undercover cop be interested in Lassiter?"

Shawn shrugs. "All's I know is I _saw_"-he emphasizes the word so Gus will know the difference between clairvoyance and his eidetic memory-"a badge and a police academy test. A chief telling her the cover. You know recruitment stuff. Why would Lassiter be with an undercover cop?"

Gus shrugs. "Maybe he knows."

"No, no chance, they're sworn to secrecy." Shawn fills a glass with Coke. "Maybe Lassiter's done something wrong again."

"Again?"

"Oh, Gus, don't be Mark Harmon's hair in _Weather Girl_." Shawn chides. "You remember that time he was framed for that guy's murder."

"Of course I remember, Shawn, you never got us back those cashews."

"Really and that's what you remember? Not me getting knocked in the head and almost getting shot. Again?" Shawn asks incredulously.

Gus waves his hand airily. "Oh, semantics."

"That is most certainly _not _semantics, quit sounding like me!" Shawn grabs the water jug and pours some into another cup.

"So what are you going to do to figure it out, then?" Gus asks curiously.

"Oh you know the wild speculations, random dancing"-Shawn quickly does a Michael Jackson-esque spin-"and quite possibly Jules. She always does come in at the perfect time."

Gus confirms this with a nod.

"Anyways. Gotta get to it!" Shawn salutes his friend before running off.


	15. Burgers and Mayhem part two

A/N: Well, hello, and Merry Holidays everyone! I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long, school and sports combined leaves my fanfiction time limited. But here is the last installment of 'Burgers and Mayhem', which, honestly, I'm kind of relieved about. This chapter is a bit abrupt, straightforward, and not at all intricately woven like the cases are on the show. Whiiiich I apologize for! I just really wanted to get this over with. So, better ones to come, I assure you!

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><p>Meanwhile, Juliet's already scarfed the rest of Gus's fries and the other half of Shawn's BLT. Now she's aimlessly swirling her straw through her drink, wondering what Shawn's up to – and then, gets out of the booth, determined. Who ever said she had to stay put?<p>

She surveys the restaurant, the smells, and the sights of families, couples, and single men at the bar, all eating and laughing. There's a its-gonna-be-a-good-night vibe in the air, and she's ready to make that happen. Even if she has to put up with Shawn's antics in a new way…joining in.

She can see him, over by Lassiter's table, setting down drinks and Gus over by the hostess stand, idly flipping through the menu. Well. Maybe she can inject some fun into this.

She sidesteps a woman with three toddlers hanging onto her arm and then walks up to the table, channeling the mile-wide grin she'd plastered on her face all through her high school years, when she waitressed. "Hello, I'm going to be your server tonight, my name is Juliet and this man here is our new trainee." She gestures to Shawn and his eyes seem to sparkle with amusement. She thankfully always carries a small pencil and notepad in her back pocket – the perks of being a 24/7 detective – and asks, "So what can I get you two tonight?"

Lassiter looks like he's just sucked a lemon. "Well, _Juliet,_" he says, his voice dripping with disdain, "I'll take the cheeseburger sliders and fries. No salt."

Juliet keeps on smiling.

The brunette, Heather, is more than a little bemused. "I'll…have what he's having."

"Great." Juliet scribbles all of this down with lightning-fast speed and then crisply walks away to the kitchen.

Shawn follows right on her heels. As soon as they're out of earshot, he asks, "Dude – what are you doing?"

Juliet slaps the piece of paper to the rotating order wheel and then turns to Shawn, hands on hips. "I'm shocked, Shawn. You're allowed to mess with Detective Lassiter and I'm not?"

Shawn smiles. "Well if you had wanted to, you could have just said so."

* * *

><p>Nearly forty-five minutes later, Shawn, Juliet, and Gus have all managed to humiliate Lassiter in some form. Shawn did the 'pick a card' routine that practically had Lassiter seething already, Juliet 'accidently' sang the Happy Birthday song to their table, complete with backup dancers Shawn and Gus and a triple-chocolate cake with sparkling candles, and Gus pretended to be taking surveys, in which he asked prying questions like, 'Do you think the In-N-Out Burger is a romantic restaurant?' and 'How many dates have you taken here?' and also, 'How often do you drink alcoholic beverages here'? Each and every one of them making Lassiter uncomfortable and his date a little twitchy.<p>

Shawn and Juliet both notice the face that while it _is _embarrassing what they're doing to Lassie, Heather looks away every time, but at something in particular. At first, Shawn assumed it was just so she wouldn't have to look at any of them but then Juliet deduced that her eye was on the kitchen. Which could very likely mean only one thing: she was an undercover cop – that much was _divined _already – and whoever it was she was staring at in the kitchen…was someone she was after. So yes, she had ulterior motives going out with Lassie but Juliet thought there might also be romance too.

(They – Shawn, Gus, and Juliet – reconvened all of this crouched behind the hostess stand).

So now Shawn, Gus, and Juliet have divided the number of people cooking in the chef section to interview. All nine people, to be exact.

Three dishwashers, one prep cook, two line cooks, a sous chef, Guy Who Fetches Things, and the kitchen manager.

Shawn takes two dishwashers and both the line cooks, Juliet takes a dishwasher and the prep cook, and leaves Gus with the sous chef, Guy Who Fetches Things, and the kitchen manager.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, they reconvene again.<p>

"You must be out of your damn mind, Shawn," Gus exclaims in a whisper. "That sous chef asked to see my _feet._"

"Okay, so maybe he's not the suspect." Juliet shrugs.

"Maybe not?" Gus echoes. "Try _definitely _not. What wanted person foot models in their downtime?"

"Ones who can't pay the bills, am I right?" Shawn holds up his hand to high-five Jules, who just slowly shakes her head. "Okay, I won't do that again." Shawn concedes. "Jules?"

"Well, so far, all I can get out of the dishwasher is that once he was arrested for assault and that he invited me to a tailgating party next week." She registers Shawn's horrified expression. "To which I _declined_."

Shawn huffs in annoyance. "_My _dishwashers are boring vegans that roped me into going to a yoga seminar next week with them. I highly doubt they're involved."

"So who does that leave us with?" Gus asks, adjusting his squatting position irritably.

"The prep cook, the two line cooks, the Guy Who Fetches Things, and the manager." Shawn ticks off on his fingers.

"Wait – how do we know that that one dishwasher isn't a suspect?" Gus questions. "He's been arrested before."

"Not everyone is a suspect in a case just because they've been arrested before, Gus," Shawn says. "_I've _been arrested before."

"My point exactly."

* * *

><p>"So done any crazy partying lately, guys?" Shawn asks, poking in on the hustle-and-bustle of the busy kitchen to question the two line cooks. They're both reasonably muscular men and he's caught them discussing football once so he's both a little intimidated and relieved to get to these two. The vegans were scarier than these people, actually.<p>

"Why?" the one guy asks, grabbing a plate.

Shawn, in the midst of the sizzling sounds of burgers frying and plates being dropped in the gigantic titanium sink, shouts, "Oh, you know, 'cause there might be a traitor in this place."

"A traitor? What are you saying?" the other ones turns around from what he's doing to glare at Shawn.

Shawn quickly backtracks. "Well, you see, I'm the new trainee, but I'm actually a psychic detective on the side and I, uh, happened to divine that a man who is on a date is not actually on a date! The woman he is with is an undercover cop!"

"_What_?" the brunette line cook looks to his friend in distress.

"You still owe those parking tickets…" he admits.

The brunette whirls back around to face Shawn. "It's not like that – I'm going to pay them! Why would they send an undercover cop after me? It's only fifty bucks!" he is legitimately upset by this news and it takes everything in Shawn's being to hold back a smirk.

"I think you're fine, Gary," he says, picking up the name with a little _actual _divining. "This woman is here for something much bigger. Maybe even…_murder._"

Gary grabs onto the counter like it's his life line. "There's a _murderer _here?" he questions, eyes as wide as saucers. His friend however, is strangely calm. Shawn redirects his attention to him.

"And why are you so…_un _-worried?" he asks, calmly

He shrugs. "There's been some crazy things around here, that's all."

"Care to elaborate?" Shawn asks, suddenly feeling like his father, using that stern, detective tone that he put on when the situation needed it.

The friend points toward the short-order cook like it should be glaringly obvious. "That kid – he's a little strange, isn't he?"

Shawn looks, tilts his head. He's a little on the chubby side, got black hair and a beard covering his face, and is shuffling along like he's an old man in a nursing home. "He's been a little…eh…" the friend continues. "A little off, you'd say, not quite all there. I think it's just an act."

Shawn honestly could have kissed this man. For once he doesn't have to think about a case. This is a shut-and-lock deal.

And then he remembers:

"Juliet!" he rushes over to grab her away from the man.

From a few feet away, Lassiter's date Heather stands up out of the booth, reaching for her holster.

For a few minutes it's a jumbled mix of Shawn and Juliet running, the short order cook trying to duck out of the way, and Heather holding up her gun in a threatening manner. There's screams heard in the restaurant and glass breaks somewhere and from close by, Gus casually eats some fries.

Eventually, Shawn, Gus, Juliet, and even, begrudgingly, Lassiter, are all sitting back behind a table, free food in front of them.

It turns out the short-order cook was a wanted fugitive, somehow slipping beneath the radar with an alias and newly-colored hair. He hid out at the restaurant, getting drug money and generally keeping to himself. Heather had a suspicion the guy was here and sure enough, the whole thing went down opposite of smoothly. Suffice to say, this will be the last date between Lassiter and Heather and Lassiter mourns this over a martini.

Shawn and Juliet pretend its Lassiter's birthday again, wheeling out a large chocolate confection and clapping the 'Happy Happy Happy Birthday' song and he almost smiles.

_Almost. _


	16. Impossible Psych Force

A/N: So...like I said, I wasn't sure about the fast food/resturant deal-io and I have been told I _was _wrong. I apologize guys, I just write these things and hope they're right. Get it...write and right? Oh, my. Anyways, so I just saw the new Mission:Impossible the other day and can I just say..._Simon Pegg! _Ah, I love that guy. It was a good movie, surprisingly funny! I hope you guys enjoy this little foray into an adventure...it's just a one-shot deal, however!

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><p>"Psych-Man, you in?" The Human Lexicon asks of the heroic duo, the psychic half currently scaling the side of the Santa Barbara police station via stepladder, walkie talkie in hand.<p>

"Almost." The psychic grits his teeth as he pushes himself up off the ladder, climbs onto the top of the roof, and gets both of his feet firmly secured.

For a moment, the thirty-something man exhales a sigh, feeling the slight chill in the air – it's an unusually sun-deprived day – and then sprints to the skylight his best friend has so cleverly marked with a spray-painted version of the Panda Express symbol. He tosses aside his heavy backpack, zipping open the right compartment to retrieve the screwdriver he's brought to prepare himself for this. He gets down on his knee and gets to work, unscrewing each latch and then finally lifts the heavy protective material. Peeking inside the circular shape, Shawn assesses. He's currently right above the spot that's often frequented by Santa Barbara policemen and woman, eating their lunches or drinking from the water cooler, but it's bare now. He rubs his hands together, mutters, "Here goes nothing." And drops in.

He lands on the cranberry-colored floor unceremoniously, dropping and rolling right next to Buzz.

"Hey," he grunts by way of greeting, getting himself to a sitting position and rubbing his thigh.

Buzz stares, astonished, and drops his coffee mug.

Shawn quickly gets up before the hot liquid or ceramic shards will reach him and points to a befuddled policewoman passing by and says, "Hey, could you get someone to clean that up over there?" and begins his sprint again. With a slight wince at the pain flaring up in his side, Shawn reaches for his walkie talkie, which has thankfully suffered no damage in his fall. "Lexicon, how we doing?"

Down in the records room, Gus, in full-on superhero regalia, replies, "Good, getting you all set up." He has Dennis working his magic on his own laptop computer, precariously balanced on a haphazard pile of _Cat Fancy _and leftover paper plates from a recent birthday party. His job is to be the lookout and he anxiously bites his lip when he's turned away from their longtime elementary school friend.

"_Getting_?" Shawn asks in frustration, passing Chief Vick and giving her a halfhearted wave.

"Yes, _Psych-Man_, getting." Gus snaps, using his code name with annoyance. They both agreed to on the walkies because it brought their shenangins to heightened levels of fun and excitement.

"Why's it taking so long?" Shawn skips three steps on the stairwell and doesn't even flinch. _Thank you, wondergods that are Nike rubber soles. _

"Well, you see Shawn, hacking into a police station's database is not always easy, okay?" Dennis has stolen Gus's walkie-talkie and is clenching the plastic toy. He only has thirteen more seconds until Shawn reaches the room and it will take at least twenty for the whole thing to load up.

Shawn sprints down to the room, flailing his arms and not at all channeling the Olympic track runner he'd thought he was at the beginning of all this. He loathes running, no wonder why he joined ultimate Frisbee in high school.

Finally, he slams open the door, and throws his walkie talkie onto a barren desk, flings himself at the makeshift chair Dennis is sitting on, and then cracks his knuckles, typing random names and numbers into the search bar.

"Shawn, what the hell are you doing?" Dennis shoves him back out of the way. "Hacking doesn't work that way."

"It did in _Die Hard Four_!" Shawn defends himself. "That movie had more holes in it than…well, _Holes_."

"_Holes_?" Gus asks, confused.

Shawn ignores him.

Dennis stares intently at his screen and then claps both hands triumphantly. "Got it!"

"YES!" Shawn and Gus quickly bust out a congratulatory dance. "We've got it!"

"What, exactly, do you two have?" a familiar voice asks from the doorway.

They all turn in astonishment to see Juliet, hands on her hips.

"The, uh…" Shawn's enthusiasm falters. "The recipe for your extra-peanuty-peanut-butter cookies."

Juliet snatches the laptop away from them. "I told you that you couldn't have this!"

"So you put it under police _protection_?" Shawn asks incredulously.

"So you jumped through a skylight?" Juliet retorts.

"We just saw _Mission: Impossible, Ghost Protocol_." Gus offers.

"You _guys_," Juliet regards them with the tone of a mother telling her children that they've done something wrong. "You can't just justify your reasons all the time because you've seen it in movies."

Shawn looks to Dennis, who just shrugs.

"And _you_, you can't just give in to their fantasies because you have the resources!" Juliet scolds the techie.

"Sorry, Jules," Shawn looks shamefully down at the floor.

Juliet nods, accepting his apology, and then lifts the laptop up. "You'll get _this _back when I've protected my recipe through...safer conditions." She walks out of the room and Shawn looks desperately to Dennis, who whips a flash drive out from his back pocket with a flourish. Then, he grins.

"Oh, no way!" Shawn applauds him. "Nice!"

Gus smiles and then stops. "Wait. Do any of us know how to cook?"

"I have a cook on Wednesdays." Dennis offers.

"What do you do all the other days of the week?" Shawn asks.

"Go out to eat." Dennis shrugs.

"Okay." Shawn looks to both of his friends. "We'll reconvene Wednesday. Don't speak of this mission to anyone. And in the meantime…" he pulls two recorders from his inside jacket pockets and hands them to his friends. "We have other business to attend to." He walks out of the room. Soon after, Gus leaves as well, and hits _play_.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lexicon, it has been two minutes since you last participated in a mission. Now, your awesome best friend has lined something else up, and it may possibly involve donuts. Your mission, should you choose to accept it…"

Gus listens to the rest of the tape, walking down the sidewalk and getting smaller and smaller until he disappears from view.


	17. while not entirely confrontational

A/N: I have been a writing MACHINE lately! Ideas left and right! :D This is fun! Thank you **SylverSpyder**, for your awesome review and favorite for my other story! And thank you everyone else for keeping up with a story I never thought would get this far! PS. Tiny, tiny _Doctor Who _reference. If you spot it, virtual cookies for you!

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><p>Shawn knows when he bolts awake in the morning that something is wrong. Oh, not in the physical sense, like his arm fell asleep during <em>his <em>beautiful slumber, no, this is of a different variety. He's had an odd dream about his father interrupting his English muffin and orange juice breakfast to talk about pressing matters. Which is very upsetting, indeed, because: 1, Shawn, Gus, and Buzz are planning to have a nice laser tag game later and 2, English muffins should never be sullied by unresolved father issues and uncomfortable silences.

So he just lays there in his nice fluffy king bed, delaying the inevitable in his sophisticated pinstriped pajamas and wonders how to approach Juliet with the plan that they should move in together. He's thought about it a lot over the passing weeks since he's discovered he's no longer a fraud – the initial shock has worn off enough to casually think these thoughts while he contemplates life, staring at the white stucco ceiling – and he really wants to have Jules in close range, not only because he's frightened on what may happen with her not in a seconds distance, and also – he really, really loves this…woman, detective, confidant, Mozart-loving, pseudo-therapist to Lassiter. He loves her enough that one day, maybe not too far down the road, he'll open up the velvety box he's kept hidden in his bedside drawer for the perfect moment.

After about ten minutes, he tosses back the covers, gets out of bed, pulls them back over and then covers the lumps the tangled sheets left with his Pillow Pet, and then saunters into the kitchen. He heads for the fridge because, quite frankly, he hasn't stocked up on cereal in weeks because he's just too lazy, and pulls out, you guessed it, the English muffins. He tosses them on the counter and stretches for a few moments, incorporating a few kickass moves from the time he watched _Dirty Dancing _and may have memorized some of the choreography. While he puts the delicious items of food into his faithful toaster, Rory, he debates whether or not to answer the door when his father gets here. And, let's see here, what else will he demand to know from Shawn? He'll be spitting mad, per usual, pissed off that Shawn's been avoiding him and wreaking havoc across the state, carrying out ridiculous antics with a heightened ability that not even Shawn would like to go too into depth on. Seriously, he's not in the mood for a half-hearted-heart-to-heart. He just wants to guzzle some orange juice and chomp some buttery goodness.

But this _is _his dad, so Shawn waits impatiently by the door like that of an angry housewife for her cheating husband.

When the familiar knock finally sounds at the door, Shawn's back at the counter, buttering the muffins and sets down the knife with a sigh. _Of course. _This is what he gets for being psychic.

He unlatches the one iffy lock he's got and then swings open the door. "Hey, dad," he greets feebly, knowing he's about to be berated and not wanting to be.

Henry has his arms crossed, his hat firmly secured on his head, and his eyes are dark and stern, like they always happen to be when Shawn's about to get some form of a lecture.

"Shawn." He says monosyllabically.

"Uh…" Shawn gestures for his father to step inside the apartment. "Come on in." he's glad that he picked up the place a couple days ago so that his superhero costumes were safely tucked away from view. He doesn't really want to explain that one just yet.

Henry steps inside, quickly surveying the place like he always does, searching for imperfections and thankfully finding none. He walks into the kitchen and leans up against the counter. "So, I haven't heard from you in a month." He says evenly, no inflection that insinuates he's been worried or angry or both, which is in typical Henry fashion.

"Yeah…about that…" Shawn hedges, skirting around his dad to reach his slowly-cooling breakfast. "I've been dealing with some…changes."

Henry rolls his eyes. "Shawn, you can't justify your reasons behind you being virtually off the face of the planet because you found out _Chuck _is having its final season."

"Okay, first of all, _Chuck _is an extremely engaging show, not that I'd expect you to understand, _dad_." Shawn defends himself. "Secondly, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth – Juliet, Gus, Lassiter, Chief Vick, Sarah, and Ryan can all attest to that."

"Exactly!" Henry throws up his arms. "Everyone's seen you but me! What exactly is going on?"

Shawn shoves half of his muffin in his mouth, never more grateful for this _chew it over with English muffins _moment.

Henry, exasperated, opens Shawn's fridge, locates the beer, and then cracks open a can. "I mean, I _am _your father, shouldn't I get an idea on what's going on?"

"Apparently you already have an idea!" Shawn says through a mouthful of crumbs. "You're acting like I'm being persecuted."

"You may as well be, what were you doing out of town? Avoiding the law?" Henry presses.

Shawn quickly shoves the other half of the English muffin in his mouth.

"No, you're not getting away with that!" Henry exclaims, wagging a finger in his son's face.

Shawn swallows and then sighs. "Look, dad, it's a _looong, _boring, _complicado _story, okay? And I really don't have time to…"

"You're psychic." Henry blurts.

"_What_?" Shawn whirls away from the window to stare in shock at Henry.

"You. Are. Psychic." He says, slowly. "I know."

"Dad, quit acting crazy, you know that I'm not _actually _psychic…" Shawn tries to sound convincing, but fails miserably.

"Shawn." His dad levels him with a glare that says, _quit lying to me. _

"Dad…" Shawn sits down at his circular table. "What's going on?"

"Why don't you tell me first." His dad takes his hat off and rubs his bald head in irritation.

"Well, apparently you already know…I've recently discovered that I'm psychic."

Silence.

"So…that's new."

Henry sets his beer down. "Shawn, I've known for a long time. A very, very long time."

"I've only just uncovered this insanity, how could you have known?" Shawn asks curiously, suddenly regretting wolfing down the muffin because his stomach is turning uneasily.

"Well, Shawn," Henry sits down opposite his pseudo-detective son. "It's a _looong, _boring, _complicado _story."

* * *

><p>From across Santa Barbara, Juliet receives a phone call.<p>

"Hello?" she answers, scribbling through a report at the same time. The hustle and bustle around the station is a little loud and she concentrates harder on the audio. "Excuse me, what?" she asks.

"This is Ryan Jones, I'm calling for Shawn Spencer?"


	18. I Was A Kaleidoscope

A/N: More to come soon! :D

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><p>Juliet relays the information that Ryan's looking for Shawn immediately to Gus, who just so happens to be at the station, rallying Buzz up so that they could go play some weird…game with lasers? Something childish and loud, she assumes.<p>

Gus picks up the phone, unsure who this Ryan guy is. "Hello?" he asks.

"Hello, my name is Ryan Jones, Shawn stayed with me for a few days a couple weeks ago, is this Gus?" the lighthearted voice inquires.

"Uh, yes, this is Gus." Gus says calmly. "Why…are you calling the Santa Barbara Police Department?"

"Well…" There's a long, heavy exhale. "I know I told _him _to call me if something ever came up bit it seems as if I'm the one with the issue."

"And this issue would be?" Gus glances around the busy prescient.

"I'd…much rather discuss that with him if it's okay."

Gus feels a surge of annoyance flare up inside him. "Look, I'm his best friend and he tells me everything so how about you tell me what the hell's going on and I'll forward it to him."

Shawn seriously regrets waking up at all this morning. If he hadn't woken up, he wouldn't have had to open the door to greet his father, spew out the truth, and then realize his father had been the most knowledgeable of all and of course, of course he had to rub it in.

_About thirty-two minutes ago…_

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><p>"Well, why don't you start?" Shawn asks, putting his arms behind his head and reclining in his seat, gearing himself up for a long speech.<p>

Henry sighs theatrically. "Shawn, a long, long, time ago, my father, your grandfather, was hospitalized in a mental institution for claiming that he could speak to the 'spirits' inside his head."

Shawn's eyes widen for just a moment.

"People thought he was crazy. I thought he was crazy and your grandmother was the only one that played into it all."

"Because she knew." Shawn says.

Henry nods. "She did. It ran in your grandfather's family, passed from son to son. The supernatural ability of clairvoyance."

Shawn raises an eyebrow. "But if that's true then…"

Henry shakes his head. "No, no, I'm not…psychic. Somehow, the gene skipped me. Which, somehow, got to you. I'd always had a suspicion, especially when you were a child. Your mother and I fought about it constantly. She believed it to be true and I had convinced myself it was deluded. I didn't want to buy into it and I didn't want you to believe in something that was completely fabricated."

"But it wasn't." Shawn mutters.

"Which I've just realized." Henry shrugged. "I can't say that I'm surprised, you always had this strange ability to predict the winning football team."

"You still owe me five bucks." Shawn says.

Henry waves his hand airily. "Anyway, Shawn, I just wanted to tell you that I know what's going on and I don't want there to be any more…secrets between us."

Shawn snorts. "Fat chance of _that _happening."

Henry glares at him. "I'm _serious_, Shawn. Now that it's all out there we can just…live truthfully now."

"Oh, really?" Shawn says with false enthusiasm. "How about _you _tell the SBPD that at first we were spewing total bull crap but now, since I've gained this freak ability, it's all fine. 'Don't worry everybody, I was lying, but now I'm not'." He felt his blood pressure rising and it felt a little good to let out the anxiety he'd been holding about this whole thing. The truth was, he _had _worried about this, immensely. What _would _Chief Vick say?

"Shawn." Henry shakes his head. "You really are a dumb ass."

Shawn raises an eyebrow.

"I _told _Karen from the very beginning of all this that you were a fraud. She went along with all of your nonsense because you're a good _detective_, not because you can speak to some 'spirits'."

"_What_?" Shawn yells. "Are you serious? So all this time, I've been busting my ass and everyone knows I'm a fake?"

Henry shrugs. "Well, not _everyone. _There's Juliet and Buzz and that guy at Tri-Con five years ago."

Shawn puts his head down on the table. "Oh my God, I _knew _I should have stayed with that interpretive dance tribe in Buffalo."

"What?"

"Never mind." Shawn stops and then reaches for his phone. "Hello? Gus?" he asks, seeing the caller ID.

"Hey, uh, Shawn, we've got a problem."

Shawn turns back to look at his dad while he speaks. "What kind of problem?"

* * *

><p>Shawn walks into the police station, flanked by his father, and they both halt where Gus, Juliet, and Buzz are sitting around Jules's desk, still talking with Ryan on the phone.<p>

Shawn grabs the phone unceremoniously from Gus's hand. "Ryan, what the hell man, what's going on?"

From the other end of the line, all the way in San Diego, Ryan sighs heavily. "I didn't want you to bother you," he says, almost meekly.

"Well, you've dragged me away from a good breakfast and also out of a long speech delivered by my wonderful father so I guess you've saved me more than bothered."

"You ate your breakfast too fast, didn't you?"

Shawn scowls. "You know, it should be a law that you aren't allowed to know someone more than their mother."

Ryan cackles. "I put those Tums in your apartment for a reason."

"Those were Tums? Ooh…"

"Shawn!" Gus gives his best friend a stern look.

"Uh…" Shawn gets back to what they were saying. "Anyway. So tell me what's up."

Ryan clears his throat. "It's uh…it's about…my uncle Mike?" he says this like a question because he's nervous and Shawn knows why. A long, long time ago he and Ryan's uncle Mike had completely clashed because of some bad chicken wing dip, bourbon, and an unfortunate loss in the Super Bowl. It was all old news and something Shawn may look past but Ryan's 'ol Uncle Mike…hardly.

"Uh-oh." Shawn puts a hand over his eyes. "What is it?"

"Well…you see…his amusement park…it's had some…casualties."

"Casualties?" Shawn echoes, a word that brings Lassiter out of the woodwork.

"Yeah, apparently some of the rides have been malfunctioning. I was there yesterday with Sarah and it was so weird, the-!"  
>Shawn interrupts him. "Wait, you were with <em>Sarah<em>? The Sarah? Aw, man, you guys are together, I knew it! Victory dance!"

"Shawn?"

Shawn quickly does a bad impression of the Robot. Gus, who's watching this exchange, along with Jules, Henry, and Lassiter rolls his eyes.

"Sorry." Shawn turns his attention back to his phone. "So, what happened?'

Ryan continues. "So, Sarah and I were at the park and we were standing there, talking, waiting in line for some food and _bam_ – the roller coaster right nearby us derails."

"_Derailed_?" Shawn asks, with extreme emphasis, teasing Lassiter, who looks more and more eager by the second.

"Yeah, freakin' _derailed. _My uncle's practically having anxiety attacks over here. Ordinarily I wouldn't ask you for your, uh…psychic abilities but, um, I need…psychic-ness."

Shawn grins, turns around. "Hey, guys…who wants to investigate amusement park murders?"

Gus and Lassiter raise their hands.


	19. The heart of the matter

A/N: I'm introducing this whole thing, so that's why it is so short, but trust me, longer chapter to arrive! Thank you everyone for your awesome-ness in reviewing every time one of these new babies appears! :)

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><p>For the record, Juliet is very patient for the first hour driving to San Diego.<p>

They'd all planned to meet and travel to the city for the excruciatingly long four hours it would take to travel from Point A to Point B (Santa Barbara to San Diego) and at the time, Juliet had been excited, she had bought snacks, she had compiled a mix CD of perfect on-the-road songs. She and Shawn had stayed up until one or so in the morning, excitedly talking about creating fantastic moments and making a movie out of it and then…morning hit.

Lassiter had grumpily ordered Buzz to get him a coffee – with his three creams, four sugars, still heart attack free – and Shawn and Gus had argued over who would get to sleep on Gus's cushy neck pillow first. Juliet, the only reasonably happy one that morning, just sighed and herded them all into her car.

Eventually, Lassiter perked awake enough to critique Juliet's taste in music ("O'Hara, _Led Zeppelin _is an _extremely _popular band, I don't know _why _you've never heard of them!") and Shawn fell asleep on top of Gus, who also fell asleep.

And then…the first hour happens.

Shawn and Gus demand to stop at Jack in the Box and Juliet won't have it; Panera Bread is a healthier substitute and all Lassiter wants is "my damn caffeine and sugar fix, O'Hara!"

So they manage to (not) compromise by stopping at a McDonald's. The entire time Shawn talks about _Star Wars _vs _Star Trek _with Gus, who gets so worked up about the topic, he bangs on the table with his fist, which knocks over Juliet's smoothie, which lands in her lap.

Gus is forced to drive the whole rest of the way to San Diego.

When they finally, _finally, _finally arrive at the amusement park, Ryan is waiting casually by the entrance, flipping through _Slaughterhouse Five _and eating a granola bar. He's dressed casually in jeans and an army-green jacket and he smiles brightly as Shawn steps out of the car.

"Hey, you guys made it!" he says, ambling over to the group. His smile fades a fraction when he sees how disgruntled Juliet, Lassiter, and Gus are. Shawn is the only one with a smile on his face, as he slept the whole rest of the way there.

"So, let's get started, shall we?" Shawn asks, clapping his hands together.

Ryan nods. "Of course." He leads them through the gates and down the pathway to the deadly roller coaster. "A couple days ago, its business as usual, even a little packed in the park. Then…" he shrugs. "The Terrible Twister rides separates from the track."

"Why wouldn't someone refuse to let them on if the track wasn't connected?" Juliet asks.

"It was when the ride started." Ryan runs a hand through his hair. "Somehow it disconnected and _bam _– coaster drops to the ground."

"Oh my God." Juliet mutters.

"How many fatalties?" Lassiter questions.

"Six." Ryan grimaces.

"And you believe someone did it intentionally?" Shawn asks, sidestepping a mother and her two children.

Ryan seems to blush. "Well, I didn't say _that_, but it is pretty suspicious."

"No problem." Shawn says confidently. "We'll figure it out." Then, he turns to Gus with a sly grin.

"What?" Gus asks uneasily.

He slowly unbuttons his shirt to reveal his Psych-Man outfit.

"Oh, _hell _no." Gus shakes his head.

"Gus," Shawn says reverently, "Psych-Man is _back_!"


	20. new thing

A/N: Hello, wonderful readers! Here is another short chapter! Sorry I haven't uploaded in sooooo long but I had to do school-ish things and such. Hope you enjoy!

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><p>Shawn confidently strides across the amusement's park sprawling grounds, occasionally stopping at a booth for a snack or 'inspecting' a ride (i.e., riding on it until he gets too nauseous to stand) and overall, enjoying the day before him. He's dressed as Psych-Man, he's solving another case, it's a good day so far. Well, aside from the six deaths that took place over here just days ago. Gus is off investigating on his own and so are Juliet and Lassiter. They're all playing their respective roles.<p>

In fact, he really should be investigating harder but he's kind of…lazy today. His muscles are honestly a little sore from all the strenuous activity he's put upon himself ever since becoming Psych-Man occasionally. He could use some ibuprofen and a soft couch. But Ryan called him here to help and that's exactly what he intends on doing.

Except…

Wait…

Shawn tilts his head.

Was that…?

_Help…me…_

No.

No.

_No. _

Shawn is not hearing voices right now; he can't, he's got places to be and a murder to very, very slowly solve. He can't admit himself right now.

_Help…me…_

Shawn turns around, hoping someone's just playing a joke, but no one's there. He rubs a hand through his hair anxiously, the voice still whispering in his ear.

People are casually strolling the park, talking, laughing, eating snow cones, paying him no mind, which is good, because he's _kind of…_looking crazy right now.

Tentatively, he whispers, feeling foolish, "Hello?"

_Over…here…_the voice is saying and Shawn, somehow feeling the ride beckoning him, walks over to the roller coaster that has the crime scene tape roping it off, the same one that killed all of those people. Juliet and Lassiter are talking with the SDPD, probably arguing over jurisdiction and snarky psychics and uptight pharmaceutical salesmen, but Shawn doesn't even glance their way. He keeps walking, stops right next to one of the many metal pieces holding the ride up, at least partly, now, anyway.

He touches the cold material, running over it with his hand, like it holds some significance.

_Right…here…_

Shawn whirls around, facing the cordoned off spot in front of him, a spot where a victim had fallen.

And shivers.

_It hurt, _the voice whispers, _I felt something crack_.

Shawn feels his eyes go out of focus; he's staring at nothing, which seems to help him concentrate better on this raspy, mysterious voice.

"Give me some kind of clue," he bargains, "just tell me something. I'll try and help you."

_I can't tell you that, _the voice responds, _but I can show you_.

And just like that, the scenery around Shawn melts away back a few days. It's not black and white, like many flashbacks in the television shows he watches, but a more muted color, dimmer. There are lots of people, some parents with children, some young couples, and some elderly walking hand in hand. It's a typical, happy-go-lucky, carnival type of scene. Except…

Above him, Shawn can hear the roller coaster, the one responsible for all those deaths, roaring up on the tracks. People raise their arms above their heads and scream in anticipation. It reaches the dropping point and _whoosh_es down the tracks at lightning speed, twirling and spinning, and then…

Somehow, the tracks separate from each other and the coaster makes its perilous journey down towards the ground. The joyful screams soon become ones of panic and terror and Shawn lifts his arms, shielding his face, and instinctively turns his head away.

"Shawn?"

There's a blinding light and then…

Shawn opens his eyes and Juliet is in front of him, both hands on his shoulders. "Are you okay?" she asks, clearly concerned for her boyfriend that is staring off into space and not responding.

Shawn tries to shake himself out of the reverie, glances around, as if expecting the voice to be a person, a soul drifting around at their last spot.

"What is it?" Juliet asks.

Shawn puts a hand over his eyes. "I think…I think I just talked to a spirit."


	21. thoughts all muddled

A/N: I cannot be thankful enough for all the subscribers, favorites, author alerts, reviews everyone has sent! Could ya send me a little feedback for this chapter, though? I see some of ya have disappeared on me! ;P anyways, here it is! I hope you all like it!

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><p>Sarah runs through the crowd of people in the amusement park, Ryan holding her hand, and finally catches a glimpse of Shawn. She breaths a sigh of relief when she sees the psychic detective sitting on the ground, his girlfriend running a finger through his carefully-styled hair.<p>

"Out of the way, nurse coming through!" Sarah shoves through some bystanders. She'd seen Shawn at his distressed level of…whatever it was that he did…and she wanted to be the one that made sure he was okay.

Ryan, still holding her hand, smiles when he approaches his friend. This is going to require a long explanation.

Around them, the investigating seems to have come to a standstill. Lassiter stands off to the side stoically, sipping from a coffee mug and looking off into the distance, the SDPB all chatting around a table someone – probably Ryan's uncle had set it up – had placed near the scene and put boxes of pastries on it, and Shawn sits cross-legged on the ground, Juliet kneeling in her navy-blue skirt and trying to comfort him.

"Shawn?" Sarah asks, a smile beginning to spread across her face.

Shawn looks up and smiles too. "Hey!" he greets, giving her a small wave.

"What'd you do this time?" Sarah asks, ambling over to him casually.

Shawn laughs. "As soon as you see me, you assume I've done something?" but it's quite obvious something's bothering him.

"Well, the investigation has come to a standstill." Sarah sits down next to Juliet and gently takes over examining his head. Juliet tries not to look jealous that another woman is using such…romantic…gestures toward her boyfriend, but she can't help it and Sarah catches the stiff reaction she has. She scooches back a fraction from Shawn, putting some small distance between them.

"So what happened?" Sarah asks, unzipping her medical bag that she'd had stored in Ryan's car.

Shawn sighs theatrically. "Well, Sarah, sometimes those on the psychic realm experience mind-splitting headaches."

"Have another vision?" she asks, pulling out an ice pack and pressing it to the detective's forehead. He accepts it graciously and squints.

"Something like that."

"Details, oh mystical one?"

"Mystical." Shawn parrots, liking the way the word rolls off his tongue. "I think I'll change my middle name to that."

"Well, Shawn Mystical Spencer," Sarah says, leaning back on the grass to watch the mid-thirties man try to grapple stability, "maybe you could tell me why you're having such a terrible headache."

Shawn looks around them and then leans in closer to Sarah, hoping no one else will hear what he is about to say. "I heard…a voice." He says quietly.

"A…voice."

"Yeah, right around here." Shawn gestures to the roller coaster. "I think it was…"

Sarah leans even closer, their heads almost touching, Juliet still peering at them with mild disapproval.

"I think it was…one of the people killed on the ride." Shawn continues. "They…did this thing, showed me how it happened."

Sarah doesn't know what to say. When she first met Shawn she didn't know what to think either. He's a man that's unfathomable, a never-stopping, always-bouncing, dauntless person with a knack for detecting details no one else can see and a gift granted by some unimaginable force. He glimpses futures and can read people's minds and wear a pair of Nikes like no one's business. But Shawn is not only a force to be reckoned with but also a vulnerable man. It's true and she's probably only one of five people who know this. He's sensitive and aware and realizes that who he is is not always embraced with open arms. And Sarah is one of the few people Shawn can at least show this side to. So, she keeps listening.

"It's crazy," Shawn shakes his head. "I sound crazy."

Sarah touches his arm gently. "You're not crazy," she insists. "You're just a little…different."

Shawn looks up at her like, _really? I'm sitting here telling you I hear voices and you're pulling _that? But he nods.

"Think you want to take a little investigation break?" Sarah asks gently.

Shawn, resigned, sighs. "Okay."

Five minutes and fifteen seconds later, Shawn and Sarah are casually sitting down at a picnic table, slurping slushees and watching ducks paddle by in the pond. Overhead, a different roller-coaster, roars by occasionally, hurtling teenagers and adults into screaming, laughing spasms, and while Shawn enjoys a good amusement park just as much as the next guy, he can't for the life of him fathom _why _Ryan's uncle is still running the place when so many murders have been committed. Although, maybe the others feel they're putting life in the fast lane now, risking their lives for a quick day of…amusement. Shawn shakes his head in something of a mix of bewilderment and surprise.

He looks over at Sarah and watches her watch the ducks with a small smile. He hasn't seen her in a few weeks and it feels thankfully good that she's around, like a remedy to the mix-mash of things that have been thrown his way recently. Finding out he's psychic…realizing he has no more money in his wallet to buy Bugles…finding out he's _psychic. _

Juliet may be his girlfriend…a _serious _girlfriend, a woman he truly loves, but he can't help but feel a relieved when Sarah is around, like she can swoop him up in all these familiar feelings of being…_normal. _And maybe that's a little wrong, to have such strong feelings for a woman that he doesn't have _feelings _for, but he does, and he chalks this up to being a little out of the "average" loop besides.

He sits there, still, minutes later, staring at nothing and wishing that he had never taken on this amusement park business. A murder occurring is not abnormal for him, hell, he's picked up dead bodies before, examined them methodically, so it's not _that_. It's that this time…the bodies…well, _body_, is _communicating _with him. Telling him how it happened. A spirit. Shawn holds back a laugh. For nearly six years he's pranced through the SBPD's halls, gesticulating wildly about the spirits that try so desperately for him to see the truth, having no idea how big of an impact they would have later on. He supposes he's supposed to be wallowing about how unfair life is right about now, but at the moment, he's honestly…okay with what's been tossed at him. Granted, he'd rather not be talking to the dead and it's making his thoughts all muddled but for now, he'll sit next to Sarah and let himself be muddled. Confusion can be alright sometimes.

There's a long pause of silence in which Shawn tries to open his mouth and say something but nothing tumbles out and he goes back to looking at the ducks in the pond, which are currently being fed pieces of shredded-up bread by a father and his daughter, whose laughter seems to bounce off the pond and echo in front of Shawn and Sarah.

Sarah finally looks over at Shawn and smiles. "Yes, Shawn?" she asks knowingly.

Shawn exhales a deep breath. "Thank you. For coming." _And for totally and completely accepting my insanity, _he wants to add, but his mouth won't form any more words and he has a feeling she understands.

"You're welcome." Sarah leans back, letting the sun fall on her face.

Shawn suddenly feels a vibration in his hand and realizes his phone is going off. He answers it with trepidation. "Hello?"

"Shawn, we've got a problem."

"I'm on it." He slides off the table and looks back at Sarah. "Wanna help me save the day?"

She smiles.


	22. we're all alright

A/N: **I'm back! Hello, everyone! Once again I absolutely have to thank each and every one of you for reviewing this! It means a lot to me that some of you are so passionate about this! That being said, I'm not sure about this chapter because it's a little abrupt and most likely doesn't make sense. Plus, if there's any mistakes on this it's 'cause I haven't edited because I have a massive headache right now. Tell me what you think! **

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><p>There's a commotion going by the Ferris wheel, a crowd of people are gathering, murmuring amongst themselves, Gus at the center, anxiously checking and re-checking his phone.<p>

"Dude, what the hell's going on?" Shawn asks of his best friend once he manages to squeeze through the fray, Sarah at his side.

Gus looks hesitant to say anything. "You won't believe it when I say."

Shawn rolls his eyes like, _have you not been around the past few weeks, _replies, "Try me."

Moments later, Shawn pushes his way to the front of the crowd, eyes fixed on Juliet, who's hesitantly pointing her gun at a man who is unarmed, and seemingly terrified. Lassiter is off to the side, stoically clutching his own piece, jaw set.

The unarmed man, though he is without anything menacing to clutch with his hands, for all the world looks like an evil villain, his face twisted in anger, his fists quivering with rage. His brown eyes are wide and his gray hair is a bit greasy and limp, too, like he hasn't showered in days.

"Who are you?" he swivels toward Shawn, and despite all this lack-of-weaponry, Shawn holds up his hands in surrender.

"Hey, Jim, I'm just a friend." He says calmly, quietly, picking through the man's mind like he's done it a million times, it coming simpler, easier now.

Juliet casts a surprised glance at Shawn, still shocked at his enigmatic abilities, and still shocked that he can remain so calm in situations so dire.

"My name is Shawn Spencer. I've been investigating the accident here." Shawn very slowly steps toward who he knows is named Jim. "And I have a feeling why you're here."

Jim, hesitantly, allows Shawn to step closer. "I didn't mean to…be here." He tries to say these words, and they come out slowly. "But…"

"This was a familiar scenario." Shawn says soothingly. "Your son, he was just like those people on the roller coaster. A freak accident."

"That was no _accident_!" Jim thunders, and when he says this, his arm thrusts to the side, knocking Juliet's and Lassiter's guns to the ground. They clatter on the cement like an echo and the crowd gasps.

Because, the thing is, Jim isn't so close to Juliet and Lassiter that he _can _knock the guns away, certainly not the way they were clutching them so tightly, besides.

Jim is using telekinesis.

Shawn wrestles with this, thinking quickly, desperately, putting it all together like the detective that he was born and bred to be. (And also, the psychic side of him that is divining all this). Jim, the father of a roller coaster accident victim, had acted out of rage. Arrived at the amusement park, angry, depressed, eager to do what had been unfairly done to him: ripping the track apart mysteriously, with no technical difficulties, using his…ability.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Shawn steps backwards, putting the distance back between them. "Okay, okay. Just…take a deep breath."

Jim turns back toward the psychic.

"I won't try and say I know how you feel," Shawn says, "but I know why you did it. You were upset, hurt, blinded by rage."

Jim flexes his hand, as if giving a warning.

"You wanted to avenge your son's death. I can see why you would do that." Shawn says carefully. "But this…this is not the way to do it."

The anger is still apparent in Jim's eyes but he doesn't do anything, just stands there, hand down at his side.

All of this is very fast for Shawn and he feels a little irritated that he's once again been handed the job of talk-down-the-crazy except _this _time it's turned all _Fringe _on him and his life was slightly abnormal with a beautiful girlfriend and an amazing best friend that always footed the bill at Red Robin. But now it's all supernatural and _angst-ified _and complicated and the lines between black and white have blurred so far Shawn's not sure he'll ever know what's what again.

"Shawn Spencer…" Jim rolls the name around in his mouth like he's considering dropping the _Poltergeist _thing he's got going on. "You're that psychic detective."

Shawn hesitates, unsure if this will work for or against him. "Yes…yes I am." He says finally.

"You saw me coming?" Jim asks, his fist tightening a bit. Shawn notices this and quickly backtracks.

"No, no." he says quickly. "I just heard there was a commotion going on but then I put two and two together."

Jim puts his hand out and propels Shawn toward him, until they're practically nose-to-nose. "I don't want to go to prison." He says thickly.

"I can' t guarantee anything." Shawn warns. "You know that."

Jim nods.

Shawn starts to beckon Jules and Lassiter over but Jim holds up a hand, turns to Shawn. "My son, Michael…is he…happy?"

Shawn looks down at the pavement, torn. He _must _be happy, after all. His spirit isn't lurking around the murder scene like most. Of course, what does _he _know? He's new to this.

"Yes," he says finally. "He's very happy."

And then Jules and Lassiter run up and the man willingly allows the detectives to arrest him even though Shawn strongly suspects that when he's in prison he can just escape like that. People like _that_…people with unexplainable abilities that no one else have…they can get out of anything.

And Sarah's there and Gus and Ryan and they all want to go out to the new Red Lobster down the street and midst all the chaos, Shawn realizes he's _starving _so he says yes.

When they're at the restaurant they're all crowded in this big booth with Sarah and Ryan next to each other and Gus on Shawn's left and Jules on his right and Lassiter at the end and everyone is dodging around the subject of what has actually occurred that day until the TV above the bar mentions the arrest. They don't know diddly squat about the specifics (_and thank goodness for that_) but Lassiter turns grimly back to the group with an expression of exhaustion and something like irritation.

"So we're going to encounter _those _kind of people from now on." It's a half-question, half-statement, said as he fiddles with his bottle of beer.

Ryan rubs the back of his neck anxiously. "Maybe that's just a…rare thing."

Sarah nods in agreement.

"I doubt it." Gus mutters.

"But how will we keep the cities safe?" Juliet asks, genuinely concerned. "These people are powerful, more than us."

"More than anyone." Shawn seconds.

"We'll just have to be on our toes, agile." Lassiter finally says after a pause. "Don't let them take over."

Shawn exhales a heavy sigh. "Gonna take a helluva lot of work."

"'S what we're here for." Gus reminds him.

"We can manage." Sarah says confidently and with the arrogance only a beginner like Shawn can possess.

Ryan chuckles.

They stay in the restaurant for three hours, talking, laughing, eating, drinking, yelling at the TV during a heated basketball game. Ryan loops his arm around Sarah's and Shawn holds Juliet's hand while he insists that Ryan pay the bill. They all laugh again and as they exit, Shawn feels relieved. There may be new dangers out there (_in fact, he _knows_, as evidenced by today_) and there may be all kinds of crazy things going on with his ability that he may never find out about and Sarah may be his other best friend and Jules may be his future fiancé, but tonight…

Tonight he's just a psychic detective with a girlfriend and best friends and a belly full of lasagna and Rum and Coke.


	23. lost in space

**A/N: **Hey everybody! I know this is a short chapter but there is definitely more to come! That being said, thank you for all your kind words and also...I have a question to ask, I'd just like to get to know you better, so where are you all from? America? :) and let the Psych-ness continue!

* * *

><p>It's three weeks later when Shawn officially becomes bored. He's sitting with Juliet, watching another <em>ANTM <em>marathon – he can not explain to _anyone _how grueling the process is – and basically telling Jules who the winner will be because he hasn't used his 'psychic juice' in '_forever_'.

"Shawn!" Juliet snaps at him. "What's the point of us watching if you keep spoiling it?" she was cranky because the chief had put her on desk duty for the past fourteen days and she was itching to do something besides go through another two pens writing forms.

"Great, then let's do something else." Shawn grabs the remote and mutes the TV, turning to Jules. "Come on, I know you want a case. I do, too. Even Gus asked me."

Juliet hesitates. It's not like she doesn't want to jump into another case that will leave them all scrambling for the clues but she can't just whip something up and the Chief hasn't had _anyone _doing much of anything since the carnival fiasco. They'd had to cover their tracks very carefully because if word got out that people were developing these odd…_abilities _then everything would go into chaos. Juliet tries not to dwell on the subject for too long; she's seen only two people with unexplainable powers, one of them had been a frustrated father, and the other, her boyfriend. She can't stand the thought of Shawn being herded onto some military base, being forced to predict attacks and a government-owned piece of property.

"Santa Barbara's a beach community, Shawn," Juliet says finally. "Murders don't happen every day." Even though they definitely seemed to in the past.

"I'm not asking for a _murder_!" Shawn's hazel eyes look betrayed. "I just want something to shake up the system. I've got nothing to do but watch _Empire Strikes Back _again and you know how tough that is."

Juliet laughs, considers. "I suppose we _could _drop by the station. You know, just to check it out, see if anything's wrong."

"Oh, yeah." Shawn affirms, as if this is a casual thing they're doing, not at all as if they're reaching for a fix.

"Totally."

"Completely."

"Couldn't agree more."

"What could possibly go wrong?"

They both grin.

* * *

><p>Shawn can't be more depressed.<p>

As he and Jules arrive at the station, it's quiet as a crypt. There is no hurried, frenzied rush to give someone files, no potential kidnapping, no urgent phone calls to locate missing persons. Everyone is just calmly sitting at their desks, and from the looks of things, a few are getting themselves acquainted with _Angry Birds. _

"Dude, this sucks." Shawn complains as he flops down onto Juliet's chair. Her desk is neat and tidy and perfect. No files strewn about, half-drunk coffee cups, or balled-up gum wrappers. She actually had time to clean her desk. What was _wrong _with the SBPD?

"Chief!" Shawn shouts from the chair, feeling lazy and annoying. He wants to make a rukus, to have everyone running around. This town is in a slump.

However, all this comes to a standstill when Shawn's scenery shifts and he's no longer in the SBPD.

Which, wouldn't be surprising, because he thinks he's spun the chair too fast and he's possibly met the floor with the side of his face, but no, this is not the floor and this most certainly is not the SBPD.

This place is not at all familiar.

* * *

><p>"Shawn?" Juliet crouches down next to her boyfriend, but his eyes are blank, staring ahead at nothing. "Shawn?" she asks again.<p>

"What's going on?" Lassiter happens to be walking by, coffee mug in his hand. He stares at the limp detective.

"I think he's having another vision," Juliet says distractedly.

Lassiter snorts. "Yeah, right, visions my ass. Spencer!" he snaps his fingers in front of the younger man's face, but he doesn't move a muscle.

Lassiter leans even closer, now concerned. "Spencer?" he asks softly, nearly inaudibly.

Nothing.


	24. are you ready?

**A/N: **_I'm !_

_p.s. I didn't edit this. If there's any mistakes - my apologies. I was really excited. _

* * *

><p>Surrounding Shawn are his girlfriend, Juliet, her partner, Detective Lassiter, Buzz McNab, nervously clutching a file folder and every so often flapping it in the psychic's face, as if that will be all he needs to wake and now, Chief Vick, concerned, arms crossed, the worry line on her forehead increasing.<p>

"What the hell's going on in here?" she demands. The SBPD is in chaos for some reason, all because of Spencer. If she had a dollar for every time _that _happened…

Juliet turns to her, panic written all over her face. "It's Shawn," she says urgently, as if Vick hasn't taken note of the sprawling man already. "He won't wake up. We think he may be having a vision."

Chief Vick studies the distraught woman, then Lassiter, who is his usual stoic self but slightly uneasy. He meets Chief's eyes and it's like a message is sent between them:

_This is serious. _

"Alright, let me try." Chief walks over to the thirty-something man, apprehensive. She's never taken any first aid courses or even attempted to learn CPR during her high school health class. If this gets bad, she'll have to call for an ambulance but right now she doesn't want to stress anyone out more than she has to.

"Spencer?" she prods the man's shoulder gently. This is most likely a tactic Detective O'Hara's tried countless times.

Nothing. His eyes are half-lidded, like he's between sleep and being awake. This frightens her and she shakes him roughly now, by both shoulders. "Mr. Spencer!" she says harshly.

More people on the force are crowding around to watch the spectacle and Lassiter not-no-nicely tells them to back off.

Chief Vick gets on her knees – in her _skirt, _so Spencer damn well better wake up – and whispers, "Spencer?"

His eyelids flicker.

Juliet gasps.

* * *

><p>There are blurred shapes above him, spinning. He feels lightheaded and confused and then all is black.<p>

A girl, hovering above him, hands coated with crimson-colored blood, a look of concern on her face, whispers, "I am so sorry…"

And then there is a terrible, terrible flash of pain. It's like getting shot all over again, except worse.

And then all is black.

* * *

><p>Shawn jolts upright, as if he was shocked by a defriberalor. His eyes are wide and he gasps for breath.<p>

"Shawn?" Juliet quickly holds him in an embrace; sure this is what he needs.

"Spencer, what happened?" Lassiter demands, eyeing the younger man's slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, his pale expression, the way his eyes are darting about the room, scuttling over everything, landing on nothing.

"I-I-I think…I think I was…I think _someone_…" Shawn swallows. "Was just murdered."

Within minutes, the station is back to its normal disarray. Buzz jumps up as soon as Lassiter orders him to check the latest 911 calls, Chief Vick demands for someone to get medical attention for Spencer, Juliet's dialing Gus's number so fast she keeps messing up and having to start over again. All of it is very confusing to Shawn, who just wants to leave, get out of the station, run, jump, something. He needs to find whoever it was that it is about to…or has been…murdered. He needs to fix this, as best as he can. He flexes his fist, angry with himself. He's a damn _psychic_; he should know when something's about to happen. He should be able to _fix _things.

And Juliet's just hovering over him, dainty and perfect and he doesn't want her to be like this. He wants her to be running around with him, too. Because _that _– that horrible, horrible vision that he'd endured…was _painful_. It was terrifying, absolutely terrifying. He doesn't want anyone else to feel that.

After a few moments, Gus skids into the station, seemingly as frantic as everyone else. Shawn feels something inside him relax; Gus will know. Gus will help him solve this.

"Oh my God, I came as soon as I could – are you okay?" he asks urgently, eyes sweeping over Shawn for visible signs of trauma.

"Yeah, yeah." Shawn waves him off. "Listen, we need to get to-!"

"There's record of a reported murder twenty-three minutes ago on Kingston." McNab rushes over to the Chief with this news, wildly flapping the paper on which the information is.

"Well then, let's _go_!" Chief Vick rushes out, flanked by various policeman and McNab, hurrying to keep up with her agitated pace.

Shawn quickly gets up and sprints after the group.

And Gus and Juliet follow.

* * *

><p>What's extremely shell-shocking is Shawn's current condition, Juliet observes. The man she loves has just gone through a horrendous experience. He looked like a PTSD victim, battered and confused, hurt. She can see it in his eyes; the way they roam, never landing, their usual sparkle gone. The mischievous smirk he usually wears on his face like a badge of honor is completely gone – no trace of his usual demeanor left at all.<p>

The only reassuring thing out of all this 'new' psychic business is that at least Shawn's still moving, still trying. He's not sitting still in the slightest.

Which can be a hindrance.

Like right now, when he _should _be staying still and drinking ginger ale or something. She doesn't know what's just happened to him – other than that it was a vision of some sort and he must have experienced someone else's death. At this mere thought, she shudders. She can't imagine what happens during that but it's obviously not very pleasant.

Shawn is jumpy throughout the entire car ride – which lasts maybe ten minutes – and Jules tries to comfort him, to say something to reassure him, placate him…at the very least prepare him for the scene they will soon be on. She knows that they've both seen countless murders – even gruesome ones, at the very worst of times, but something in her tells her that this situation will be different.

Once they arrive at the two-story, redbrick home, Lassiter goes first, kicking open the door, wielding his gun and spinning around, marching into rooms, shouting, "CLEAR!"

Juliet grasps Shawn's hand.

The kitchen is where they find the mid-thirties man, tall and thin and still warm. His green eyes are wide open, as if he was surprised when he met his demise. He's lying in a pool of blood, which is just spreading all across the tile in a horrid fashion.

Shawn just stares.

"Shawn…" Juliet tightens her grasp on his sleeve.

He slowly bends down, scrutinizing the man. "I thought…" Shawn whispers. "I thought we could have…" his eyes darken.

"Get forensics in here." Chief Vick says softly to Lassiter, trying not to let Shawn hear, who is so fragile she's sure he might break.

Shawn scoots a little closer, closely examining the man further.

And then Juliet jumps backwards, nearly three feet, with a loud gasp.

Because, the thing is –

The man springs upright, suddenly alive, eyes relaxing, gasping for air, just like Shawn, nearly an hour ago.

"What just happened?" the man demands.


	25. The weirdest version of Ghost

**A/N: So I'm pretty positive my editing sucks. But here goes. I had my super-awesome friend preview this and she liked it! So hopefully the rest of you will!**

**Also, my super-awesome friend - **Mrs-N-Uzumaki - **and I have made a new story - Of Murder, Mistrust and Pineapple. It's available here on FF, under my name, but if you want to check it out on psychfic (DOT)com search for one **Mrs-N-Uzumaki**. She and I - MysteryMeg - will be up there also. **

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><p>Gus is positive that time has stopped. Totally, completely, without a doubt, stopped. He's also pretty positive that his heart's stopped beating – or maybe it just feels that way because he lifts two fingers to his neck and feels a pulse. His head his spinning and he can feel sweat begin to bead down his forehead – but this is practically nothing, he supposes, in the grand scheme of things, for Shawn, who is currently standing next to him, absolutely frozen, while Gus frantically reminds himself to breathe.<p>

No one speaks at all: Lassiter's blue eyes are so wide Gus wonders if they will pop out of his head; Juliet's hands are covering her shocked mouth, almost like _The Scream_…and the man, the unknown man who seemingly has _jumped back into life _like he were waking up from a nightmare, well he's…freaking out.

"What the hell is going on!" he demands, looking at the four of them. This doesn't merit a response so he yells louder, "WHAT IS GOING ON? WHY AM I…?" his hands are covered in his own blood and he begins to hyperventilate.

Shawn quickly drops onto the floor, the knees of his jeans soaking in the crimson-colored blood. "What's your name?" he asks urgently.

"Sam." The man gulps. "Sam Schmidt." He looks around the room again. "What happened to me?" he asks, nearly inaudibly.

Gus watches as Shawn's lips try and form words and fail at their attempt. For the zillionth time that month, Gus wonders how it feels to be Shawn _right now. _Before, he'd always wondered, always thought about the eidetic memory, keen observational skills, word-for-word movie quotes and his never-ending energy source. But then all those thoughts shifted into, _I wonder how it is to be _psychic. Gus can't fathom that for the life of him. Shawn is already so different. And now this…it must feel like the weirdest version of _Ghost _ever.

"You've…been in an accident." Shawn finally supplies, his eyes giving a different answer.

"Like hell I have." The man snaps bitterly. "I was…I was _dead. _I'm _positive. _Everything was…black. And then…weightless." He looked at Shawn, right into his eyes. "Do you know what it's like to be…dying? To feel completely filled with terror and then to be…just, absent? To not even be into your own body? And then hurdled back into the light? It…" his voice cracks. "It _hurts_."

Shawn blinks rapidly, clears his throat and then says, "The ambulance will be here for you soon." The sight of the two of them – one man lying in his own blood, another, kneeling in it with no apprehension…unnerves Gus. He doubts that Shawn will care that the blood will never be able to be washed out of his jeans; that's the physical aspect of this whole intangible moment that's been laid out before them.

Lassiter's barking orders into his phone in the other room – giving the four of them privacy. Gus has a feeling it's a bit more for himself. The stoic detective can cover up his feelings like no one else but the whole _Fringe-_esque atmosphere that's recently appeared has unraveled even him. Honestly, he wouldn't know what to do with a man that's just jolted back to life before his eyes, either.

Juliet's just standing there, shocked like him, hands over her mouth and Gus fleetingly wonders if it's because she might vomit. He kind of wants to, too; if only to expunge the roiling feeling in his stomach. He fiddles with the pocket of his suit jacket and then glances out the window, hoping for the ambulance's quick arrival.

"You believe me, right?" Sam asks Shawn, hand grasping for the collar of the psychic's plaid shirt. "You don't think I'm making this up?"

Shawn stares at him for a long moment and then shakes his head. "I believe you." He says, loudly enough for Gus and Jules to hear him. "I…I have a pretty weird factor about myself, too, at this point so I guess it's safe to say we're both trying to get people to listen to us."

Gus listens with absolute shock. If he thought he was frozen minutes ago he's an absolute statue of himself right now. Though he'd always known Shawn to be of the attention-seeking variety, he'd never really pegged him like this, the misunderstood guy, looking for someone to _see _him, _really _see him. And maybe the whole psychic addition has amped it up. Because _before _– _before_ _Mission: Impossible type rescues of recipes and saving kidnapped children _– the attention-seeking thing was just that – for attention. Now that it's all genuine there is something else laced behind the gesticulations and the ridiculous dances: determination and hope and…desperation.

Sam doesn't push further for details and Shawn sits down now. "You don't remember…anything before the whole…uh…" he just can't say the word _death _right now.

Sam shrugs, the movement of his arms making ripples in the…_you know. _"Not…really. I've been trying to think…but all I can remember is what happened after."

Gus can see Shawn looking away at something, thinking. If anything, he can guess that Shawn's trying to decipher yet another vision. The worst part is _he _probably knows what happened to the dead-but-not-really-man.

Juliet hesitantly walks into the other room, eyes lingering on Shawn. Gus can hear her and Lassiter's voices filtering in from the living room.

"…bus will take another five minutes…"

"…don't know…"

"…get Spencer to…"

Lassiter steps back into the room, his usual mask plastered back onto his face. "Alright…" he looks over at Shawn, waiting for a name.

"Sam Schmidt." The man offers.

"Right. Sam. Well, the ambulance will be here in just a few moments. Can you tell us anything about what happened here?" he looks to O'Hara, who, shaking her head at this ridiculousness, pulls out her notepad and pen.

"Uh…" Sam looks over to Shawn, his only alibi, who nods, as if to say, _go ahead. _ "I…I'm pretty sure I died."

Lassiter doesn't smirk, doesn't crack a joke, doesn't say anything about a full moon being out or the guy being completely batcrap insane. He just nods and says, "Anything else?"

Sam looks helpless. "I wish I could…" his voice trails, looking for a name.

"Detective Lassiter." Lassiter introduces himself, realizing how stupid he was now for not creating a stable environment for the distraught man. "And this is my partner, Detective O'Hara. That man over there quivering in his boots is Guster."

The dead-but-not-really man glances over at Gus and Gus nearly recoils away.

"But I have no idea." The man finishes. "I just feel really fuzzy right now."

"That's okay," Juliet says gently, "maybe something will come to you once you've gotten some rest."

_If he can get any_, Gus thinks.

The familiar sounds of an ambulance's siren can be heard and Gus feels tension in his shoulders leave. He can finally get out of here.

Shawn notices the way Sam seems to draw into himself. "Don't be scared, man," he advises. "The paramedics will take good care of you. You may not be able to answer all of their questions and that's okay, too."

Sam nods.

Moments later, the ambulance pulls into the driveway and the paramedic and his EMT partner bust into the kitchen, listening as Juliet, Lassiter and Shawn fill them in. They load him onto a stretcher, even though he insists he can walk and then they peel out onto the road, their sirens bouncing off into the air.


	26. if i could turn back time

**A/N: **Once again - my friend **Mrs-N-Uzumaki** and I have made a story under my name on here called Murder, Mistrust and Pineapple. Check it out and give us some feedback! :) As for this chapter, I hope you all enjoy! Thank you loyal reviewers and other readers!

* * *

><p>As far as Juliet is concerned, turning back time is the one superpower that could really be used for something.<p>

She stands outside Sam Schmidt's hospital room, looking at the beige floor, wishing.

Because, after all, turning back time would solve a hell of a lot. With one fluid motion she could take them all – Shawn, Lassiter, Gus, Chief Vick, Henry –; put them back to _before. _Before Shawn had discovered his psychic abilities. Before everything in the criminal community in Santa Barbara was intertwined with something supernatural.

To be quite honest, she feels like she's in shock. She probably is. None of this has really quite hit her the way it has, say, Henry, who hasn't even looked at Shawn lately.

The whole 'he was lying to you the whole time' reminder isn't helping either because Juliet loves Shawn. Loves him so much sometimes that it hurts.

Like right now. It hurts. She doesn't quite know how to react to anything lately. She arrested a man who could _move objects with his mind_. She'd just now witnessed a murdered man come back from the dead.

Sometimes, when she's alone, she wishes everything that's happening lately is all a figment of her imagination. It's not all terrible, she supposes. Shawn seems the same as ever. Maybe a touch less joyous, but still joyous just the same. She wonders if he really doesn't know the severity of everything that's going on or that he's just chosen to ignore it.

Speaking of Shawn, he's been in Sam's room an awfully long time. She walks in, poking her head around the corner and sees Shawn, tilted in an orange plastic chair, talking a mile a minute.

"So you see, the whole thing about it is that Maverick and Goose-!" Shawn's rant cuts off when he recognizes Juliet standing there.

Sam's eyes follow her as she sits beside Shawn.

"What about _Top Gun_?" she asks, hoping that she is smiling.

"Only that it's the _best _Tom Cruise movie _ever_," Shawn says, eyes wide.

"No way," Juliet snorts. "_Minority Report_."

Shawn snorts. "You're insane."

And just like that, they're back in that old diner, above newspapers and empty juice glasses, laughing. Shawn reaches for her hand and she smiles as he gently rubs his thumb over her palm, reassuring her.

* * *

><p>Henry knows that he's been avoiding his son. Oh, asking Karen for a week off to go fix a 'medical emergency' had been total crap and they both knew it. They both knew he was intentionally hiding but only Henry knew the reason: ever since Shawn admitted to his, uh, powers manifesting, Henry dodged any type of contact with him. Granted, <em>he <em>was the one always forcing the kid to just sit and eat some steak with him but right after his admittance to being something he'd pretended _to _be for some odd years…Henry made it a point not to encourage him over to the house. It wasn't that his son had so drastically changed, more than Henry himself had. He'd tried so long to help Shawn cover up everything – and though he'd always told his pain-in-the—ass kid that it was because it was his 'one last favor' – and, well, himself. The whole thing was covered by him purely for selfish reasons; he'd thought, stupidly, that Shawn's faux-psychic detective spiel was a good sign, that it wasn't genuine. His leniency for the secret stemmed from relief.

But now…now everything was 'complicado' and jumbled. The SBPD and his son had always fused together like oil and water but now it's different. It's a different type of inability to fuse. Or rather, the fusing between supernatural and…well…normal. The two _shouldn't _fuse.

Ergo, Henry didn't show up anymore. Well, he _did. _He did his usual work; just managed to slip in and out of the station without bumping into his son. He had seen Gus and Juliet but they had dodged him as much as he them.

However – despite all these fleeting thoughts, Henry's now standing in the local hospital's cafeteria, a chocolate chip cookie in front of him and a coffee in his hand. Shawn had sent him a text asking for him to be there and since it had been weeks since they'd talked, he obliged.

Now he's just waiting for Shawn to show.

Just as he's starting to get into a conversation between two nurses about some type of mysterious patient that –

"Hey, dad," Shawn saunters up to his father and then looks down at the gigantic chocolate chip cookie in front of him. "Dude," he smirks. "I haven't eaten yet. Can we split?"

Henry gestures for him to go ahead.

Shawn breaks all but a quarter piece off the cookie, shoves it into his mouth and then says through the crumbs, "So, I know we haven't talked in a few days." The mushy sounds of Shawn's chewing make Henry roll his eyes.

"Yeah," Henry rubs a hand over his face. "I know that-!"

"I need your help." Shawn blurts. The look in his eyes is one Henry's seen only in bouts of serious cases. Which could mean one of two things.

"Is it…" Henry lowers his voice, making sure the nurses at the next table over don't hear. "Supernatural?"

Shawn hesitates. "What would you qualify a man coming back from the dead as?"

Henry lets his forehead smack down on the sticky tabletop. "Are you sure?" he asks, muffled.

Shawn shrugs. "I don't know what the hell's going on, dad. I mean, I have this…_vision _about this guy like…dying. We find out who he is and then we get there, me all the while thinking we're gonna save him."

Henry raises his head, listening closely now.

"Except that, we do get there…and find him dead." Shawn rubs the stubble on his cheeks. "But…then he like…jumps back up or something. And he's back."

"Back?" Henry echoes numbly. The words coming out of Shawn's mouth would sound absolutely ridiculous to a…normal…person but then again, he's talking to a _psychic. _

Shawn nods. "It was like he was stone-cold dead, just laying there in his own blood. And then he just…opens his eyes."

"You don't know who the…almost"-Henry corrects himself-"murderer is?"

Shawn shakes his head. "No idea."

"What do you want me to do?" Henry asks, unable to stop the whine creeping into his voice. But really, what place does he have in all this?

Shawn sighs. "I need you to _help _me, dad. I need to find out who this…almost…murderer is. All I got from the vision is that it's a she. Young girl, too."

Henry resists the urge to snort. "Shawn, there are a lot of young girls out there."

"I know." He shakes his head regretfully. "But I really want to help this guy. He's so scared."

It's silent for a while and then Henry finally asks, "So is that his…thing? Coming back from the dead?"

It's definitely different to be discussing peoples' superpowers in broad daylight, over a cookie, no less.

Shawn looks thoughtful. "Maybe not."

Henry looks at him incredulously. "What else would it be?"

Shawn looks up at the ceiling. "I feel like…that guy would know if that was his thing, you know?"

Suddenly, he cracks a smile. "Hey. You think I can pull off a wig?"

Henry looks dubious.

"You know," Shawn says, in that reverent voice that lets Henry know he's still there, "I'm Whoopi Goldberg. Obviously you're Demi Moore. Think Gus could pull off playing Patrick Swayze?"

Henry shakes his head.

"Those are big shoes to fill." Shawn reminds him.

"I guess so." Henry pops the last of the cookie in his mouth.

Three floors above them, in the ICU, a man who's been in a coma for nearly an entire year, opens his eyes and speaks a full sentence, "Is there any water?"

* * *

><p>A week after the dead-but-not-really man is finally released from the hospital, Shawn and his father still have no leads. How surprising is that? They can't just ask every young woman in the Santa Barbara area if she's recently attempted to murder a Caucasian man in his mid-forties.<p>

Shawn, Henry and Gus – when he isn't fulfilling Central Coast assignments – try their best to decipher Shawn's vision in the Psych office, even pulling out the glass board that makes Shawn feel like Charlie on _Numb3rs_. If anyone would happen to stumble upon the detective agency, they would take one look at the board and insist they'd walked into _A Beautiful Mind 2_.

The board is dotted with random doodles – supplied by Shawn – and slanted notes Henry's written that Shawn's told him about what he's seen.

In lime green, _woman…apologizes. Young. _

In red, appropriately, _blood_.

And the last, written in trepidation (between both father and son) in sky blue, _pain. _

The idea that Shawn goes through the exact same thing – death – in his visions makes Henry shudder. He's known to be a little rough around the edges, but he's not heartless; it still unnerves him.

Gus draws a pretty charitable version of Shawn, putting a hand up to his temple and beneath it he's scrawled, _3.5 months_, because that's how long it's been since Shawn admitted to realizing something different about himself.

In navy-blue, _SBPD _and light green, _Psych. _They are side by side and in purple, right smack in the middle of the two forces, is the word _supernatural. _

At the bottom, in chronological order, written in orange, is _psychic, telekinesis…man who comes back to life_?

Shawn and Henry write most of this, during terrific brainstorms when either one is too excited (_or in Henry's case, too frustrated_) to formulate their words into a complete sentence. It's kind of confusing to look at, sometimes, Shawn reasons, reaching into a Tupperware container Jules's dropped off.

He pulls out a slice of pineapple and chews thoughtfully. This is probably the hardest he's ever tried on solving something. At least, the hardest with this new…attachment. It's too confusing and blurry to try and piece together something that doesn't make sense – even for him.

He's even tried a few times to _get _something – but the biggest divining he's done in the week is tell Juliet he wants blueberry ones before she can tell him she's going to make pancakes.

He's even gone so far as to just _sit still_. He's actually just _sat there _and _thought_. For some idiotic reason, Shawn had assumed he was going all over the place and the visions needed to come when he was still and waiting. But after an hour of getting cramped in Gus's desk chair, he gave up.

Even now, standing here, he's almost…frozen. The pineapple isn't even really helping; it just tastes wrong today. He puts the container down in disgust and looks at the TV, which he's kept on the news for a few hours.

Thankfully, Jules and Lassie have kept Sam Schmidt's case under wraps and it hasn't hit the news circuit but he's keeping an eye on it just the same. He – admittedly – wants some sort of clue to jump out at him but nothing is.

Or maybe he's just not letting it.

Gus's frustrated words from the other night (after Shawn refused to call him anything else but "Agent Eppes") bounce back at him and he groans.

_Just concentrate, Shawn! _

Yeah, if only _concentrating _was his problem.

He sits back down at his desk chair and reaches for his rubber band ball and tosses it. _Think, _he urges himself, _what did the woman look like_? At the time it was pretty damn clear but after the whole not-death thing and generally just trying _not _to think of it, it was like…_locked _or something. Gus had suggested something about yoga or some ancient Tibo…Tibe…something like that…exercise. But Shawn doesn't think anything New Age-y will work –

Shawn stops mid-thought, tries to get up from his chair, stumbles and then falls onto the floor.

The thing about psychic visions? They freakin' _hurt. _They make you dizzy and disoriented and kind of hot.

Shawn stands up and his eyes go wide. Of course. Of course he's doing _this _again – except, he's Sam Schmidt again but he's in the hospital, a young women looming outside the room, peeking in the window, who Shawn just _knows _is the attempted murderer. She's got springy, bouncy brunette curls and green eyes and she looks worried, pacing.

Then there's a sensation of falling and not being able to grasp anything solid and Shawn opens his eyes.

Immediately, he reaches for his phone, ready to gather up the cavalry and get everything going because she could be at the hospital _right now _– except that Gus doesn't pick up and neither does his dad – he must be out fishing or something, Shawn guesses. He tries Jules but she apologetically says Chief Vick's got her wrapped up tight in a robbery case. He doesn't even try for Lassiter, instead searches the office for his keys. Except that, he's basically put the place in a windstorm and he can't find them and _damn it. _

He's contemplating walking – yes, _walking _all the way to the hospital – when his phone rings.

"Yeah?" Shawn asks, irritated, not having looked at the caller ID.

"Yeah, Shawn, hi." It's Ryan and he's saying everything in a rush – for Ryan at least. His usual calm but with a tiny ounce of panic. "Listen – remember how you said you thought maybe that guy _wasn't _immortal?"

Shawn had filled Ryan in on the case of course – Ryan had practically been molded into the SBPD's employment, along with Sarah, when she could afford some advice from her nursing shifts – and he'd be lying if he didn't say he was hoping for Ryan to get something he couldn't.

"Yeah?" Shawn asks, pacing around his desk.

"Well, I don't know if you know this but it's running on the news right now. Some guy's just woken up from some year-long coma. The doctors were planning to take him off life support." There's a beat of silence in which Shawn strides over to the television and turns the volume up, cursing and thanking his psychic abilities for missing a key hint. "Tell me that's not a coincidence." Ryan says.

Shawn watches a very perky news reporter go on about some miracle at the local hospital and slowly sits down on the chair in front of the TV.

"Dude," Shawn finally says, "you need to drive me to the hospital."

* * *

><p>Thankfully, Ryan is not that far away from Shawn and can pick him up and drive him right to the hospital. Neither of them really talk, not until they're in the hospital and past check-in.<p>

"You know, I'm going out on a limb for you," Ryan tells Shawn as they walk the halls of the hospital. Firstly, he _does _have a job, contrary to Shawn's belief and he needs to design websites for people that _pay him to do so_, secondly, he _had _had to drive Shawn all the way to the hospital from where he was and while he finds the whole rush-and-adrenaline-solve-things-catch-criminals exciting, he also likes to relax more than anything.

"Oh, _Ryan_," Shawn simpers, "you're starting to sound like Gus."

"Shawn – you know I hate hospitals." Which is _sort of _true. He doesn't like places that have people that can do scary things, like jump in and out of death.

They round the corner but Shawn stops right in front of Sam Schmidt's room. "Dude. This is a huge break. We can catch the murder, today! Might even leave us enough time to go get some Panda Express with Gus."

Ryan levels the psychic with a stare. "Don't act like this isn't bothering you, man. I can tell; you keep doing that eyebrow twitch."

"I do not have a twitch!" Shawn protests. As his eyebrow twitches.

Ryan crosses his arms. "You do. You've been doing it for weeks." And he hadn't said a thing, either, which had been terribly tempting. He honestly doesn't know why no one else noticed it.

Shawn holds his defiant smirk for a few more seconds and then lets it fall. "Okay, so I'm a little off my game. I'll bounce back."

"It's not your game, Shawn," Ryan says in exasperation. "Your 'game' is fine. What you're doing is avoiding it. You're just…hiding." He knows this may be a little too _Dr. Phil _or whatever, but it's true and Shawn's doing that slow spiral thing he does when no one else will tell it to him for real.

Shawn huffs out a sigh. "Well, don't you think _you'd _be a little off if suddenly you were psychic and weird crap was going on?"

Ryan shakes his head. "You're deflecting."

Shawn looks at the floor. "Everyone…everyone expects me to be the same old guy. They don't…well, most of them, don't know that there's been this…transition. To them, I've gotta be Shawn, Psychic Detective extraordinaire, ready and willing to drink a pineapple smoothie at any time!" he says the last line with mock enthusiasm.

Ryan's green eyes seem to take on a lighter shade, as if he's suddenly realized something. Which he _has. _Shawn's expectations for _himself _are even high.

"Shawn," Ryan smiles. "Dude, that is so untrue. Do you know how much everyone appreciates you? They don't expect a song and a dance. Hell, you don't even pretend to be…well, you _didn't _pretend to be psychic half the time anyway."

Shawn scoffs but Ryan continues.

"Gus, Juliet, your dad, me…we all have no friggin' _clue _on how your mind operates. We never did, to be quite honest."

Shawn smirks.

"We can't pretend to, either." Ryan confesses. "But what we can do is listen. But you need to _talk_. You can't just hide forever."

Shawn looks at him for a moment and they both just stare. Something silent passes between them, something like an apology and acceptance that both know the other understands. That's enough, which leaves room for Shawn to do what he does best.

"And you picked _web design _as your profession?" Shawn asks, partly kidding, partly serious. On the exterior, Ryan is just this calm, collected guy that likes to help his friends out but if you know him, know him like Shawn does, you can see how multi-faceted he is.

"And how do you feel about that?" Ryan parrots.

Shawn jokingly shoves his shoulder. "Does this mean we can't have Panda Express?"

"Shawn, we have a case to solve."

"So that _is _a no." Shawn ducks into Sam's room.

"Shawn!" Ryan chases after him.


	27. rock paper scissors

**A/N: **Hey, guys! Sorry for not updating sooner - I've been preoccupied with my one-shot I made with S-Boogie and our other story - both available to read on my account and on psychfic (DOT) com! Look up **Mrs-N-Uzumaki **or me, **MysteryMeg**.

Okay, now that I'm done with shameless promoting...

Yes, there are Scrubs references in here. And a little somethin'-somethin' for the ever-wonderful, ever ginger-tea drinking amigo, S-Boogie!

Please shoot me a review on what you think!

* * *

><p>"I don't know if I can do this."<p>

"Pull yourself together man; we need to get through this."

"But…I'm _itchy._"

"You'll get used to it."

"I feel like I'm going to vomit."

"There's no backing out now."

"There could be. My car's out back, we could make a clean break."

"Don't be a burnt pineapple upside-down cake! We only have to do this for a few hours."

"How long is a few?"

"Ryan."

"Shawn."

"Ry-_aaaaaaaaa_n!"

"Shawn!"

"Ry-Ry."

"Shawn, stop it."

"Can I call you the Ryster?"

"I'm going to kill you. Turn on the light!"

"Fine. Happy?"

"Are you wearing _purple _scrubs?"

"I'm not the one stuck wearing Winnie the Pooh."

"Shut up, Shawn! These were the only ones in my size!"

"Hey, I'm not judging."

"Are you going to open the door or what?"

"I'm getting ready!"

"You're eating a doughnut. Where the hell did you get that, anyway?"

"A nurse never tells."

"You're not a nurse."

"I could be."

"No, you couldn't."

"Well, I _look _like a nurse."

"You look like an idiot."

"Hey – don't be rude. I could have got us cleaning bedpans."

"You couldn't have done anything. All you're doing is wearing a nurse's outfit."

"And I look damn good in it."

"If you say so."

"Now come on – we've got some hot male nurses to impersonate!"

* * *

><p>Shawn has to admit – infiltrating a hospital (for the what? Third time now?) is <em>fun. <em>He and Ryan even sneak in a quick wheelchair race at the end of it – but he'll start at the beginning.

After Shawn's done laughing at the ridiculous-ness of Ryan's women's scrubs, Shawn goes to work. Obviously Sam coming back from the dead and then another man coming out of the edge of death once Sam arrived aren't a coincidence. He just needs someone – preferably, another nurse, who he learned from Sarah gossiped whenever and wherever they could – to catch him up on what's going on. Are Sam and the coma man connected? How? Do they both have superpowers? Do neither? The questions in Shawn's head can't go unanswered.

Plus…that not-murderer chick is bound to be lurking around here somewhere.

While he and Ryan split up, Shawn manages to weasel his way into the good graces of a snappy nurse in tangerine scrubs called Carla. He gives her a cheese Danish he got from the vending machine and listens to her intently as she blathers on about her husband and his annoying best friend. Just when Shawn's about to mentally fist-bump himself for accomplishing this task so early, someone calls a bunch of nurses over to assist in some cardiac arrest of some kind and Shawn's spending hours running around with this Carla woman. Being a nurse is pretty grueling work, honestly. He doesn't even time to check his hair in the bathroom mirror. No, forget his _hair. _He doesn't even get to _go _to the bathroom. Or drink any type of water. Being a nurse is insane.

Shawn's a little sweaty and exhausted when he reconvenes with Ryan at noon, who is so annoyingly cheery and bright-eyed he honestly contemplates punching him but that would take effort.

"What the hell happened to you?" Ryan asks as they maneuver their way into the line for lunch.

Shawn glares at him. "I've just been saving _lives _all day, man,"

Ryan guffaws. "Seriously? I've been having a great time. I met this girl Eliott and she's crazy but she just talks and talks. I'm pretty sure I'm close to getting some good stuff on the coma guy."

Shawn grabs a turkey sandwich and a bottle of juice. "What have you done these past few hours?"

Ryan shrugs. "Watched some TV. Followed Eliott around. Answered some phones."

Shawn curses under his breath. "Next time _I'm _wearing the Pooh scrubs." His hand hovers over a plate of appetizing brownies but then shakes his head at himself, too engrossed in trying to locate why his mind has suddenly gone hazy.

It's like a jolt – suddenly, he spins around and books out of the cafeteria, sneakers pounding the linoleum. He skids to an elevator, pushing the button multiple times before giving up and taking the stairs, two at a time.

When he's finally standing back in front of Sam's room again, he lets out a gasping breath – all the running catching up with him. He wants to stop and take a minute but the not-murderer chick is right next to a…_former _patient…someone covered by a blanket on a gurney. There's a weeping woman next to it, her sobs seeming to get wrenched out of her.

Shawn doesn't know what to think, what to make of this young woman, who is or isn't a murderer, hanging around a hospital ward. He does know one thing, though. The young woman's delicate hand is reaching towards the blanket. He watches in fascination for a moment, frozen in all the thoughts whirling through his mind like a tornado.

The young woman touches the arm of the deceased person on the gurney, her long, slender fingers tracing a pattern.

The older man, possibly in his early fifties, springs upwards, eyes wide, gasping.

Nurses rush to the scene and the not-murderer's suddenly ducking down the hallway, everyone oblivious to the young girl that's seemingly just brought a man back to life.

Shawn's caught between being just as shell-shocked as the nurses or giving chase and tackling the not-murderer for some answers.

The detective in him decides.

He doesn't waste time yelling, 'stop!' or 'hold it right there!' – he just runs.

The girl hears Shawn's pounding footfalls behind her and gasps, speeding up her gait, looking for an available place to hide. Except that, somehow in all the running and chases and newfound psychic-ness, Shawn's lost some weight, gained maybe an ounce of muscle. His sluggishness he's acquired over the years of starting his detective agency has started to diminish and he's quicker, faster, and more agile. Within a minute, he's right behind the girl and he grabs onto her shoulder and spins her around to face him.

The girl's eyes are cobalt blue, wide with innocence. She looks fragile as she glances up at the psychic.

And then she falls face-first onto the floor.

* * *

><p>There is a moment – one small, particularly calm moment – when everything is silent for Shawn. Everything has seemingly melted away and he's just standing there like a statue, unable to move, trapped with this terrible, wonderful gift of knowing what direction to move while everyone is still.<p>

And then noise fills his senses in a sort of liquid clarity – suddenly he's grabbing onto the not-murderer and flipping her over in his arms. Her eyes are fluttering and her limbs are seizing – cruelly twisting with every jerk of her body. This is bad, this is so very bad.

Shawn shouts, "HELP!" his voice raw. A nurse that's been tending to the newly-awakened man rushes over, shouting for someone else and in all the blurred colors of that moment, Shawn looks down and realizes he's wearing scrubs. He takes the opportunity and starts shouting orders, words he lifted from Carla, procedures and medical jargon that carry weight.

He's got his hand on the stretcher as they wheel the girl into an empty room and then a doctor runs in and the nurses are a backdrop as he tends to the young woman – this miracle being that's pranced in Shawn's life like a hindrance and morphed into something nameless, an undetermined definition marking her enigmatic.

Shawn supposes he shouldn't have such powerful empathy for a possible murderer but something about her strikes a chord with him. He thinks that it's half the clairvoyance, half the part of him that sees what he always does in the people that walk into the Psych office, their expressions always a mix of hope and sorrow.

He watches in desperation as the doctor stabilizes the young woman.

She's rushed to somewhere else and he should be moving along with the other nameless nurses, being urgent and efficient and quick – but he's frozen again, like he's stuck in molasses and only after a numb five minute stasis of staying that way, does he realize that he's left Ryan behind in the cafeteria.

* * *

><p>"So…she had a seizure?" Ryan's sitting in the wheelie chair that Carla would ordinarily be occupying, looking earnestly at Shawn. He's the exact thing that Shawn needs right now and he is more than grateful for his calm presence.<p>

Shawn nods. There's silence for a moment until he breaks it with, "I didn't know that was going to happen. I mean…I knew she would be up there, I _felt _it…but I didn't anticipate that happening." He's a little disappointed by that but knows in the back of his mind that he wouldn't have been able to do a thing – she would have had the seizure anyway.

Ryan seems reluctant to say anything but finally opens his mouth and out tumbles, "You said she touched a dead guy, right? And he sprang back to life, just like Sam?"

Shawn nods. "She's got to be the one that's getting all these miracles around the hospital. But that doesn't explain the seizure…"

Ryan levels him with a typical _are-you-serious _look. "Have you never read a comic book? She's been zapping people left and right – she's got to drain out sometime!"

Shawn's eyes widen. "She's going to kill herself saving other people."

"And…now we're left with the fact that she murdered Sam. Or…tried to, anyway." Ryan looks thoughtful.

Shawn's hazel eyes flit up to the ceiling. "I can talk to her, maybe get some information out. Then we'll go with what we know."

"Should we call Detective O'Hara?" Ryan asks, bringing up a mental image of Juliet for the man, who flinches at the thought of her expression, betrayed.

"Maybe we should wait on it," Shawn advises. "We don't want to scare the girl. Yet."

"Don't you remember what happened with the telekinesis guy?" Ryan snorts.

"He went willingly!" Shawn protests.

"You do realize that he could just escape from prison at any moment?" Ryan seems legitimately concerned about this. "That guy is psychotic! He murdered lots of people!"

"People murder people a lot of the time, Ryan," Shawn says in that simpering voice that makes Ryan want to slap him. "It's not going to be any different."

"It is when suddenly everyone's cropping up with superpowers!" Ryan's arms flourish widely, his gesticulation mirroring an attitude Shawn had held before all this. "How would you feel if suddenly, I got the ability to…I don't know…shoot lasers out of my eyes and then decided to murder people just for fun?"

"Well, firstly I'd hope you'd have fun warming up delicious frozen breakfasts…"

"Shawn."

"Secondly, Ryan, people don't just suddenly _get _superpowers. They manifest after a certain time."

"And you would know this?"

"I think I would remember a two-hour long speech my father delivered about his father being a psychic."

Ryan's eyes widen.

"And third," Shawn holds up three fingers, "people don't just get the urge to murder other people when they have…abilities."

Ryan looks chastised for a moment and then perks up. "So what are we going to do the rest of the day?"

Shawn actually looks contemplative. "We _could _have a wheelchair race down the hallway in our nurse's scrubs."

Ryan glares at him.

"Come on…just once. We can do it down in pediatrics. They love me there!" Shawn protests.

"What? How did you manage to sneak into the pediatrics department?"

"I didn't. I just know that from experience. I had surgery once in a hospital. Kids love playing hide-and-seek when it's free ward."

"I'm sure the nurses _loved _that."

"Come on, Ry-Ry. Where's your sense of _adventure_?"

"Don't call me that, Shawn."

"R-pop?"

"What? Is that even a thing?"

"It is now."

"No, it really isn't."

Shawn twirls away from his friend and shouts as he retreats, "I'll rock-paper-scissors you for who has to count first."

"Shawn!"

"ROCK…PAPER…"

"Damn it, Shawn, don't cheat this time!"

"I…do not do that."

Ryan catches up to the psychic and rolls his eyes. "What were my two out of three going to be?"

"Scissors and rock." Shawn looks deflated. "I can't help it if I know what you're going to do." with a smirk, he puts his fingers to his temples.

"Well…just pause it or something."

"If I could I would…R-Boogie."

"Okay, you're done."

"Ryananator?"

"Will you ever run out of nicknames?"

"Possibly. Maybe by four. You know, I never had lunch."

Ryan reaches into his pocket. "What would you say…if I had some cool ranch Doritos?"

"Oh, my GOD!" Shawn grabs the bag. "I love you."

"…er, thank you?"

"I could marry you."

"I think I'm good."

They continue like this for a while, their voices echoing around the hospital like two people who have just been relieved of a massive burden. There's still things to solve, of course – some that may never get logical answers, but in the moment, they can lose themselves in all this – the bravado of being themselves, and maybe people that they never thought existed.

* * *

><p>Also...I didn't proofread this. Haha.<p> 


	28. psychic spiel

**A/N: **Okay, so I didn't want to turn into this type of person, the one that rants and raves, but I haven't gotten any reviews or anything in a while...even after I uploaded a new chapter, I got no response. Being the stubborn person that I am I decided, cynically, _well, if no one reviews, I guess no one's reading and I should just stop writing this._ So if you're out there, readers of this fic, could you tell me if this chapter would constitute as an ending or would you maybe want me to go more? I was thinking of just going on hiatus and coming back but if you're all on the same page, tell me if this will be enough, having the not-murderer and Shawn go on and do...something. Like an open ending? I'm sorry...it's late. I might be making no sense at all.

* * *

><p>Ryan meets up with Sarah later on in the day and Shawn manages to sneak his way into the not-murderer's hospital room, sans the nurse outfit. He's actually kind of confident and shook off his earlier nerves about the entire situation. So he's questioning another murderer. Who could possibly be a <em>not<em>-murderer. Who could also possibly have the ability to bring people back from the dead. Just another day.

The not-murderer girl's shoving a leg into a pair of jeans under her hospital gown when Shawn opens the door. She looks up at him, hair swinging wildly in her flushed face and looks caught.

Neither of them say anything for a moment until Shawn's casual lilt permeates the room with an attitude he hopes will ease the tension.

"Wow," he says, eyeing the frantic look in the not-murderer's eyes. "I didn't know hospital food was that bad."

No smile. Not a surprise. He isn't expecting one.

"Who are you?" the girl asks, her voice raspy. Her eyes dart around the room for an escape and Shawn inches closer to her.

Shawn decides the psychic spiel can be pushed aside for a moment. "Someone who knows if you keep running like this, it'll only get worse."

The girl looks at him warily, probably wondering if he's someone she can trust. Finally, she says with a shake of her head, "It can't get any worse."

Shawn's thoughts travel back to that moment in Sam's kitchen, watching in surprise as he jolted back to life like the flip of a switch.

"Why would you say that?" _(even though he knows, like he always, always does)_.

"I've…done things I regret." She notices Shawn's gradual approaching and gives herself some room to continue. "I can't stay here."

"Done things you regret?" Shawn knows that he's stretching this all out like some delicious taffy, but he's got to get concrete answers this time.

The girl looks at him in an indignant way, like he couldn't possibly understand. "I'm not safe to be around," she warns. "You should probably back up."

Shawn keeps edging closer. "I wouldn't say that. Unstable, sure. But I doubt you're toxic."

The girl finally gets both legs into her jeans, as if the discussion is over. Shawn can practically feel the opportunity sliding from his hands.

"Are you saying that because of Sam?" he finally blurts, because dear lord, he's getting sick of dancing around all this.

The girl stops, frozen in fear, but someone still able to speak. "How do you know about Sam?"

"Well, I could tell you that it's because I'm psychic," Shawn barely conceals a smirk at the not-murderer's reaction. "Or…well, yeah, actually, that's my only claim." He quickly wraps it all up, knowing he doesn't have much time. "You got into a fight, Sam got in the way, and you were upset. Then you did your…magic thingie and brought him back to life. How am I doing so far?"

The not-murderer's words are nearly inaudible. "I…didn't mean it. I was trying to…fix."

"Doing the only thing you knew how." Shawn fills in. "Which lead you to this hospital, a _plethora _of dying individuals. Which has got you drained, 'cause you're not meant to be giving all of your energy to everyone else."

The young woman, for once, seems to come out from behind a barrier. "If someone needs help…" her voice trails off in a _that's that _sort of tone.

"I get that you're trying to right a wrong, Will Smith, _7 Pounds, _all of that," Shawn dismisses. "But you still hurt someone and you're causing a huge amount of stress, waving your power flag around like that. How do you think people would react if I…oh, wait…huh…" Shawn looks caught himself. "Okay, you know what, never mind. Just…come with me and I'll help you. I know that you're scared. I've been there."

The girl seems so distraught and tired and even her eyes seem worn and she finally nods. "Okay."


	29. 29

**A/N: Alright, it's 12AM right now which might be the reason why this chapter is soooo weird, like...I don't even know. It's very OOC but this story is AU and OCC since it is AU so...maybe it'll fit? Anyways - thank you everyone who left such supporting reviews for last chapter and encouraged me to keep writing this! You all deserve a giant cyber-hug! **

**There's a super-small Suits reference in here, by the way.**

* * *

><p>"I don't understand why I'm doing this," Juliet hisses to Shawn as she opens the door of her apartment, watching warily as Shawn steps in with the maybe not-murderer and Ryan, hot on his heels, eating from a bag of popcorn with mild amusement at the scene before him.<p>

"Because you love me," Shawn says, like it's obvious, leaning in to kiss her.

Juliet obliges and then says in a low whisper, "If I wake up and she's trying to kill everyone…I'm blaming you."

"Wouldn't expect anything less, Jules."

"Good night, Shawn."

"Night."

Juliet pads off her to room in her slippers and Ryan looks back at Shawn, who's watching the maybe not-murderer slowly eye the objects in Juliet's living room – the portraits of her family, candles, figurines, a bowl of fake fruit.

"This is going to end badly," Ryan hypothesizes, chomping on a handful of his popcorn.

Shawn doesn't respond, just walks over to the maybe not-murderer and asks her to sit down with him on the couch.

See, the thing with most murderers? All they need is a little TLC. You hook them up with a nice hamburger, side of fries and a cola and pretty soon you've got yourself a confession. Sometimes it's just a listening ear, a comfortable atmosphere. They want to know that they're being treated as equals. Which Shawn wants to do, in this situation especially. He's never been afraid before (_at least, never admitted out loud_) and he's not going to be now. He and Ryan coaxed the maybe not-murderer into discharging herself from the hospital, taking her to the local mall's food court, watching her eat a #10 with onion rings from Bob's Burgers and then carted her to Jules's place, because the Psych office was out of the question and Henry would not be so obliging to let a murderer into his house…even if she wasn't actually one.

"So," Shawn begins, watching Ryan saunter over to Juliet's fridge and grab himself an orange soda. He pops the top with a noisy hiss.

The girl just stares.

"I told you who I am. Why don't you give me a name?" Shawn gives the girl space on the couch – enough room to feel comfortable.

The girl's eyes flit about the room and land back on Shawn again. "Aubrey," she whispers.

"Okay, Aubrey," Shawn takes this name in like vital information. "You've got the whole powers thing going on, am I right?"

The voice is barely audible. "I told you that back at the hospital."

"Right." Shawn smiles, leans back. "Right, you _did _say that. Basically insinuated I was right, about your whole bringing people back to life business. But the thing is, you didn't elaborate on Sam or how he ended up in the hospital, which would _really _help a lot of people."

Aubrey gives Shawn a withering look, at his smirking and eye twinkling, his unusual loftiness. "This isn't a joke," she snaps.

Shawn's smirk fades, but only by a fraction. "Oh, of course, of course it's not a joke. You killed a man and then revived him with your superpower-y ways because you felt guilty. For once, I can't see the humor in that."

"Like I _said, _it was an accident." Aubrey looks defiant.

"You killed Sam. On accident."

Aubrey looks down at her lap. "We were…romantic together." At this, Shawn raises his eyebrows. "He was my brother's best friend and when he went off to Stanford, it was just the two of us. He was staying back in town at the community college and I…was in junior high."

"Dude, ew." Ryan comments from the counter. "In _junior high_?"

"No!" Aubrey shoots Ryan a hard glare. "It wasn't until later, that I was in my third year of college, that we reconciled. By then, my brother had moved to Washington, but it already felt like it was just Sam and I."

Shawn doesn't say anything, waits for her to continue.

"We began to hang out more and more and we found ourselves…attracted to each other."

Shawn stays silent, waiting for her to keep talking.

"Everything was going well – perfect, even. Sam and I had a lot in common and had a stable job in his accounting firm. But then…" her voice trails off. "Things went a little downhill. My mom got sick and my dad had already died a long time ago and she had no one to care for her so I had to drop out of school. Sam wasn't too thrilled about it but he had his own problems – he got fired from his firm for embezzling funds."

Ryan grabs Juliet's TV remote she's left on the counter and points it at Shawn and Aubrey. He makes the motion as if he's trying to change a channel.

Shawn turns around and gives him an incredulous look. "Dude – what are you doing?"

Ryan looks confused. "Trying to change the channel. I thought I was watching football, not _Days of our Lives_."

Aubrey raises an eyebrow at Shawn and he just turns away from Ryan, back to her.

"Anyways…" she clears her throat uncomfortably. "So while I was taking care of my mother, Sam and I were arguing more and more. He didn't think I should have left school and I was angry with him for being all high-and-mighty just because he'd gotten out of jail time."

"How did he manage that?" Shawn asks.

"His brother Harvey is apparently a very good lawyer."

Shawn shakes his head.

"Anyways, so our relationship was bound to end sometime and I was over to his house about to do that when he got a little…rough. He grabbed my wrist and I panicked…I was terrified he was going to hurt me and with all of my stress about my mom and school and Sam himself…I grabbed a nearby knife and…"

"Stabbed him?" Ryan offers from across the room.

Shawn waves him off.

"Yes…" Aubrey seems to whisper, eyes watering with unshed tears. "It was a terrible accident and as soon as I'd done it he fell on the floor and I panicked, left."

"Did you always know that you had this…"Shawn gestures to her.

"I'd always had my suspicions, yeah," Aubrey admits shyly, "but I didn't know until that moment for sure."

"Okay, so…" Shawn looks up at the ceiling, hoping for a solution. "What you're telling me is that you got into an argument with Sam, lost control, stabbed him, left him on the floor and then somehow your presence alone brought him back to life?"

Aubrey shrugs. "Yeah."

Ryan walks over to the couch where Shawn and Aubrey are and sits between the two. "So. I'm no attorney but from what I can tell you're looking at some sort of prison sentence for attempted murder."

"Couldn't I try and get out of it?" Aubrey's voice wavers. "It was an accident."

"He kind of doesn't remember anyway." Shawn offers.

Ryan raises his eyebrows. "You still tried to attempt to murder someone, even if it was accidental. What are you going to say to the court? 'I'm sorry but I brought him back to life with my mutant superpowers'?"

"Mutant?" Aubrey snorts.

"Guys – we need to approach this seriously." Shawn says.

"I completely agree."

"We need to pack you up a suitcase, change your name and get you on a bus to Idaho."

Ryan looks at Shawn like he's gone mad. "Shawn, stop joking around."

"I'm not joking." Shawn crosses his arms. "It was an accident but the court will never see that. Jules and Lassiter technically haven't brought her into questioning. People with superpowers are dangerous enough. Aubrey's shaking in her boots right now, look at her."

"Shawn, people _act, _that's what they do to get out of things."

"I don't see this as an act, Ry-Boogie."

"_Don't _call me that!"

"Aubrey will be safe in some remote town where no one's heard of her. No one will ever be the wiser."

"Uh, guys? I can hear everything you're saying."

"Shawn – we can _not _glamourize murder by allowing her to get away scot-free!"

"Who said anything about glamorizing? I'm being a good citizen."

"No, what you're doing is making me an accessory to a crime and us both getting our asses in prison."

"Not if we do this correctly."

"Oh my _God, _Shawn!"

"Ryan – think about it. What if you were in her shoes?"

Aubrey turned her glistening eyes on the webpage designer.

"Oh no, no, no, no." Ryan shakes his head. "I am not doing this, Shawn. I _can't_. I'm not designed for prison – my lithe physique can't take it."

"Lithe – okay, never mind. Ryan, look at this from the viewpoint of a person with superpowers. I know it's hard for you to channel our awesomeness but try okay? Now imagine dealing with that torrent of emotional instability plus extremely bad hair days and couple that with the stress of normal day-to-day business. Accidents are bound to happen. Are we supposed to be put away for life for one mistake?"

"She wouldn't get…exactly a life sentence."

"Ryan."

"Shawn, you've gone insane. You've absolutely gone insane."

"Look, I've got a friend Dennis who can get Aubrey anything – license, bank accounts, new name, hair stylist."

"Hair stylist?"

"He can set her up with anything necessary and then send her on her way." Shawn looks at Ryan with that hazel-eye intensity that usually persuades people to do things they don't exactly want to do.

"You're sure about this?"

"Eh, about seventy-two percent anyway."

"Shawn!"

"Ryan, just…trust me. This is the right thing to do."

"Letting a would-be murderer go free in the potato state?"

"Letting someone go that doesn't deserve the treatment people like her…like _us…_will get." Shawn says calmly.

"You realize we're creating the superpower version of the Underground Railroad, right?"

"That's actually a better name than I would've given it."

"If we go to prison…I can't promise I won't use any information to get myself a lighter sentence."

"Good to know, Ryan."

"Just a warning."

* * *

><p>The next morning, after an intense 'underground railroad' operation – which involved three thousand dollars in cash, blue-colored contact lenses, a bag of Fritos, falsified documents made to look like the real deal and one penguin pillow pet named Abraham – Shawn and Ryan lay on Juliet's couch, sound asleep, in full operation mode. The game plan is to act like they fell asleep on Aubrey and she snuck out of the house, none the wiser. It wasn't exactly a foolproof plan, but they had been up all night fueled only on Red Bull and chips and plus logic had kind of been thrown out the window when Shawn had gone all 1850's on Ryan.<p>

Juliet, right on schedule, walks into her kitchen, in bathrobe and freshly-washed hair, reaching for her coffee pot, when she remembers the ridiculous plan Shawn had approached her with last night. _Odd…_the girl isn't around anywhere. She ducks into the bathroom, her own room and the alcove leading from the front door to the living room and doesn't see anything.

"Shawn!" she shouts, taking notice of Shawna and Ryan just lying there, dead to the world in their oddly-formed slumber.

Shawn jolts awake and Ryan rolls right off the couch.

"I DIDN'T STEAL THE PINEAPPLE – oh, hey, sorry Jules, I was having a nightmare. What's going on?"

"What's going on is that your little 'may be a murder suspect, Jules' girl is _gone_."

"You've checked everywhere?" Ryan asks, keeping his tone at the right level of panic.

"_Yes_!"

"Oh, crap." Shawn says, act almost as well as Ryan's. "She ran."

"You think?" Juliet reaches for her phone immediately and Ryan turns, wide-eyed to Shawn.

"Uh…Jules, I don't think you need to do that."

Juliet pauses mid-dial. "And why not?"

"Well, I uh…I ruled her out as a suspect."

"Shawn, you described her in your vision."

"Well, yeah…but I had a vision last night. And it wasn't her." Shawn shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not able to stand completely still in his bold-faced lie.

Juliet isn't convinced. "You're sure?"

Shawn glances at Ryan – the quickest, shortest glance that lasts a millisecond – "Yes."

Juliet looks at the both of them, catching onto their awkward body language. "What's going on, guys?"

"Nothing's going on." Shawn says, looking straight ahead at his girlfriend.

Just then, Juliet's cell phone rings and she dashes to answer it. "Yes, hello, Chief. What? Right now? Okay, I'll be right there." She looks at Shawn and Ryan. "There's some standoff going on downtown."

"Oh, no," Ryan says in what is half-shock, half-sarcasm.

"Don't think this means you're getting out of this! We're not done talking." Juliet warns, pointing a finger at Shawn before she reaches for her keys and coat.

As she speed-walks ahead of them out the door Shawn leans in close to Ryan, whispers, "Dude – first underground railroad super power saved!"

"Shawn, if you utter one word today that falls along the lines of 'underground', 'railroad' or 'super powers', I will _personally _wrap my hands around your throat and choke you. And then I will _definitely _go to prison."

"Ooh, hostile."

"I knew I should never have listened to you when you said you were psychic. _Oh, what's the big deal, Ryan? What could possibly go wrong_?"

"You realize that I'm not listening to you, right?"

"I'm warning you, Shawn. I _will _choke you."

"Guys! Hurry up!" Juliet's already inside her car waiting for Ryan and Shawn, who, in the midst of their bickering, have stopped walking altogether.

"Ready for another case?" Shawn asks Ryan as they run to Juliet's car.

"Why did I agree to do this job with you?"

They climb inside Juliet's car and buckle in their seat belts and Juliet screeches out of the parking lot, heading down the street. They're right about to turn when Shawn shouts,

"STOP!"

Juliet slams on the brakes just as a giant pickup truck roars in front of her – its previous intentions to hit the side of the car Ryan is sitting on if they had moved.

"_That's _why." Shawn turns to Ryan and says smugly.


	30. finale

Ryan deftly avoids talking to Juliet for exactly fifteen hours.

From six 'o clock in the morning to noon, there is a standoff between an enraged, drunk husband holding his wife hostage with a kitchen knife and half of the SBPD, trying to coax the man in letting his wife go. Juliet and Lassiter are obviously too preoccupied to even _think _about supernatural forces or escaped not-murderers and Shawn's eyes are flashing back and forth from the Santa Barbara police force to the woman being held hostage. Overall, Shawn's too busy to even play into Ryan's anxiety and half of the city of Santa Barbara is distracted so actually…this is pretty decent.

Ryan spends his free time drinking cup after cup of black coffee so by the time the hostage situation is resolved he's so hyped up what he says to Shawn is rushed, hurried and one long run-on sentence:

"Hey, Shawn so guess what while you were doing that saving the citizen routine and all that I was really bored so I had a bunch of coffee and oh my _god _have you ever had just plain coffee it's so much better than pouring in all the cream and sugar and-"

"Ryan!" Shawn cuts him off. "Dude. _Chill_. Firstly, I can't tell you how wrong you are about black coffee. Black coffee is the equivalent of…Val Kilmer's latest movies. Secondly, we need to get some actual nutrients in you."

Ryan looks at Juliet, who looks like she might perhaps be approaching them. "Uh-oh, detective, ten o'clock!" he quickly ducks behind Juliet's VW.

Shawn hits the ground just as quickly.

"Dude – how are we going to get out of here?" Ryan questions frantically.

Shawn slowly smirks. "I've got a plan."

**OoOoOo**

Turns out, Shawn's plan is to stalk Gus at his work until he begrudgingly takes off for "lunch" and they reconvene everything that's gone on the past few days.

Gus listens intently for the entire speech, which is extremely surprising, but manages to get a dig in at the end. "So you guys are breaking the law without any qualms about the fact that oh, we work with the _police department_?!"

Ryan, who's been running on anxiety and caffeine for the past few hours, shoots Shawn his signature look.

Shawn throws up his arms. "What was I supposed to do?"

Gus rolls his eyes. "Hm, you know, I can see your point clearly, Shawn. Allowing a murderer to run away under an alias to a place where no one will find her was obviously the right decision. I would have had no insight to offer had you asked for help."

"She's not a murderer!" Shawn protests. "Well…not really."

"She still killed Sam!" Gus retorts. "For _normal people_, once you kill them, they don't come back!"

"It was an accident! He's fine!"

"Are you even hearing yourself right now?"

"Are _you_?" Shawn demands. "There are things going on bigger than us. People can move things with their minds. Some girl barely older than a teenager can resurrect people oh, and by the way, I can see the future! Maybe it's time to get off your I'm-so-reasonable high horse and look around!" his chest is heaving with the declaration and after a moment he looks startled that he's said that.

But Gus looks guilty and looks down at the table.

Shawn says in a gentler voice, "Gus, there is some crazy stuff going on right now and it wouldn't be right not to include you." He slowly smiles, letting his best friend know he doesn't mean any true harm.

"Will we break any laws?" Gus asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Yes."

"Will I go to prison for any of this?"

"It's quite possible."

"Will there be any necessary running from evil people with superpowers?"

Shawn looks to Ryan, who nods his assent. "That is also very possible."

Gus grins. "I'm in." he knows Shawn had been busy with all the supernatural business over the past weeks and he forgives him. He'd spent those past few weeks just _thinking_, really and doing actual work. And the truth about actual work? _Boring_. Besides, the questions he'd asked Shawn? Those were typical components of a _regular _Psych investigation.

**OoOoOo**

Shawn and Gus politely tell Ryan they need some best friend alone time to reminisce or whatever down at the docks and Ryan all too cheerily tells them to go on ahead.

Honestly, he's probably going to have a panic attack right in the Psych office and he doesn't want an audience.

See, Ryan's all calm and collected because his _life _is calm and collected. He designs web pages and lives in a one-bedroom apartment! He watches _Law & Order _and eats ice cream out of the carton.

But then suddenly he was vaulted into supernatural beings and powers and running and rescuing and law breaking and being a badass. A completely terrified, shaking in his boots when no one was looking badass – but a badass just the same.

And he kind of needs to take a minute and let it out.

He stumbles into the office, ready to sit down and watch Mariska Hargitay and Christopher Meloni show off their BAMF detective skills. He tosses his keys onto Gus's desk, pulls off his jacket, whirls around and is face-to-face with Juliet.

"Holy _crap_!" he jumps nearly a foot in the air. "What the hell? How did you get in here?"

Juliet looks at him like he's overreacting. "I have a key." Which is entirely possible, _duh_, given that Shawn's her flimsy boyfriend.

"Okay…" Ryan edges around her nervously. He knows he's looking at this in entirely the wrong way because Juliet is not an evil supernatural monster (as far as he knows) but considering what he did last night with Shawn – letting a possible murder suspect, who turned out to be the murderer but not really, go free, aided entirely by him, Shawn and an awesome nerd named Dennis – it's probably not a good idea to be in such close proximity. After all, he's not too good at lying.

"Where's Shawn?" Juliet asks curiously, taking notice of the way the office has basically been turned into a serial killer's basement, with papers and maps and photos lining the walls with Shawn's random notes and doodles scrawled in the corners.

Ryan glances down at the sundry mess of items on Shawn's desk, hoping for one of those _chew it over with Twix _moments. But no such luck. "He's hanging out with Gus."

Juliet nods and then continues to pace her way around the office, stopping on a photo of that not-murderer chick, Aubrey, that Shawn had written _possible healer _on in red Sharpie.

Oh, _crap_.

Juliet spins around to face Ryan like she's just suddenly remembered about the not-murderer. "What happened last night?"

"Last night?" Ryan repeats lamely, because oh, hell, Shawn's left him here to deal with this.

"Yeah." Juliet looks like she's resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "What happened? The girl ran away? We'll have to report that. I can do that right now, actually, since they'll be separate."

_Oh, craaaaaap_. "Uh," Ryan sits down because he won't be going anywhere. "Okay."

Juliet pulls out a small notebook and a pen and _oh, no _he's in it now. What'll he say? He never rehearsed any of this with Shawn!

"So. Tell me exactly what happened last night, starting with when you arrived at my apartment." Juliet has a look in her blue eyes like maybe she's enjoying this. Look, it's not his fault that she's been caught up in work and Shawn's been too busy sneaking around being a true clairvoyant and whatnot! He makes web pages for women selling kitten calendars, damn it!

"Uh…" Ryan fidgets in his chair. How does he even begin to explain that he and Shawn disguised themselves as nurses just to try and glimpse the sort-of-murderer? How does he say that the sort-of-murderer is actually a murderer but also not really, which is why he's slapped the title 'sort-of' on her. Ryan knows Juliet knows about the supernatural stuff going on but it's _Juliet. _She's not really that good at taking things the way he and Gus have to. "Well, you see…"

And that is blissfully when, of course – Ryan's life is flipped upside-down once more.

Someone seems to just shimmer into view and with a few rapid blinks; Ryan can see a pretty tall, thin man with short brown hair and a scowl on his face. _Either he just teleported in this room or I'm _seriously _hallucinating to get out of saying a report_.

Juliet just stands there like a deer in headlights so the evil, maybe-teleporter guy turns to Ryan and demands, "Where is Shawn Spencer?"

"Uh…" _Oh, Ryan. Perfect day to lose your grasp on a solid vocabulary. _"HE's…uh…not here."

The mystery man's brown eyes narrow with suspicion. "Well then, do you know where I can find him?"

Ryan's mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. "Actually…"

"Right here." And there's Shawn familiar voice and Ryan wants to _hug _him for arriving just in time. He must have had some psychic vision or something because there's no way Shawn and Gus reconciled their friendship in the span of eight minutes.

"Ah…you're Shawn Spencer?" the man's lip curls upward in disdain. "You seemed…different in the photos I've seen."

Shawn recoils. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've…put on a few pounds."

"I've been working out!" Shawn says defensively.

The man tilts his head as if to say, _are you sure about that? _

"Who are you?" Gus asks, suddenly by Shawn's side.

"My name's not important. I have business with Mr. Spencer." And just like, the man's hand is on Shawn's shoulder and they disappear from view.

**OoOoOo**

There's a startling sensation of feeling like he's being submerged underwater and dragged across sand and dropping into a middle of a wheat field. And then Shawn opens his eyes.

Oh, yes.

He _is _in the middle of a wheat field.

"What…the hell…" he mumbles, a hand pressed against his eye.

"Shawn Spencer." That voice, attached to that crazy man, is back.

"Dude – could you like…_not_?" Shawn whines. "For one second, okay?" he squeezes his eyes shut tight, fighting back the start of a headache and the vertigo that came with teleporting a million miles away from Santa Barbara.

There is a blissful silence for a few moments and then Shawn looks up. "Okay. Continue?"

The man sighs at Shawn's behavior. "My name's Joel. I'm here to warn you."

"Warn me?" Shawn scoffs. "You should have done that a year ago! Back before strange men were teleporting me away to the middle of nowhere!"

Joel rolls his eyes. "You're not prepared. You need to be."

Shawn groans. "Prepared for _what_?"

Joel rounds on the psychic, spinning so that his leather jacket flutters. "Let's just acknowledge your utter stupidity first, okay? The fact that you're a psychic and know nothing about this actually kind of ruins my monologue."

Shawn mumbles something incoherent.

Joel ignores him. "I've been watching you – you aren't being too careful with how you're handling everything in Santa Barbara."

"…handling everything?"

"A man with telekinesis was right out in the open! You let a suspect get away!" Joel exclaims.

"Okay, firstly – how am _I _supposed to control all of this?! I didn't ask for this…this _job_ that's just been forced on me! I don't know what the hell is going to turn up the next day!"

"Which is exactly why I'm here." Joel's voice is suddenly steel. "You need to learn to know when everything is going to happen…before it does. Right now all of your visions are good for is random, scattered, manipulated moments."

"Isn't that what the future is?" Shawn asks dryly.

"I'm serious. You need to use your abilities. The _right _way."

Shawn, still sitting in the middle of the field, feeling ridiculous, asks, "Yeah? And how am I supposed to do that, exactly?"

"Come with me. My brother has a setup in Canada. We can reconvene there." He looks ready to grab Shawn's arm and move them again but Shawn pulls away in disgust.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! You show up out of nowhere, _teleport _us away, go off about how I'm doing a crap job at being what I am and expect me to jet off to _Canada _with you? With no regards to the fact that, oh, I have a _life _back in Santa Barbara?" his chest is heaving, frustrated and also slightly relieved that he can get these feelings out finally.

Joel hesitates, looks down at the ground. "Shawn…I can tell you everything you want to know but first we have to get to a safe place." He again reaches for Shawn's arm but he pulls away.

"No! You're going to _tell me _what's going on!"

Joel looks into Shawn's eyes, reluctant and finally huffs out a sigh of annoyance. "Okay. I'll give you a rundown. Ready?"

Shawn slowly nods.

"I'm being hunted. You're being hunted. All of us. The Gifted ones. They're fast, dangerous and known as The Department. They want power. They want _superpowers. _And they'll do anything to get it. I've been scoping you out for a week now and I've seen some suspicious eyes. They're waiting to close in on you and then one day…you'll just disappear."

Shawn looks confused.

Joel elaborates. "Over time, more and more of us have emerged. You thought you were the only one? There was the telekinesis guy and the healing girl but there's also me and you and thousands of others out there. Some are hiding, which is damn good. For others…" he looks pointedly at Shawn. "They're right out in the open."

"What do they…use our powers for?" Shawn asks faintly.

Joel shrugs. "They experiment. Test our abilities. Try to maximize it. Use it for interrogations. Keep us locked away for _years_ in isolation."

"And…it's not legal?"

"No." Joel shakes his head. "I was lucky to get you when I could. One of my old friends that escaped told me she heard your name floating around the facility."

"And you just came here to get me?"

"Someone had to. You're lucky it's me. I can get away fast. Now…" he reaches for Shawn once more but Shawn shakes his head.

"You don't understand…" he says quietly. "I have Juliet and Gus and my dad and Ryan…I can't just…they'll wonder…I have a _life_."

"You won't if you stick around much longer." Joel stops his frantic pacing, looks seriously at Shawn. "I can help you. I can show you how to get stronger. But we need to do that in a protected environment. And yours? Uh, not exactly _secret_ with your 'psych detective agency'."

"How…" Shawn speaks around a suspicious feeling in his throat. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Joel looks at him for a moment and then pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a long, jagged scar that runs on past his elbow, traveling up towards his shoulder. "That's where they ran a knife on me. Tried to get me to reveal the location of my friend Damien. Had me drugged up pretty good, too. But I got away."

Shawn just stares, his mind racing with how to interpret this all without panicking.

Joel, impatient, blurts, "Okay, fine, I can give you…a _day_, tops to say goodbye. You got that? A day. We need to get you out of California."

"But…" Shawn can't stop, can't help but revert back. "What about Jules? And Gus? And my _dad_? The SBPD?"

Joel's voice is cold. "You'll have to leave them behind."

"I…I can't just _leave_. What will I _say_?"

Joel shrugs. "Whatever you want to."

Shawn shakes his head. "I'm not agreeing to this. Not yet. We're going to go back to Santa Barbara and you're going to spew some story about how you're my long-lost cousin or whatever, okay? Don't tell anyone yet." He rises and Joel claps his hand on Shawn's arm.

"You'll have to, eventually." He says, and they disappear out of view.

**OoOoOo**

Ryan, Gus and Juliet are all doing their own variations of panic inside the Psych office.

Ryan is standing at the glass board, marker in hand, scrutinizing the contents like maybe somehow he will find out who that man was, Gus is frantically flipping through the stacks of papers on Shawn's desk, searching and Juliet is canvassing the room over and over, clutching her cell phone. She's called Lassiter and Chief Vick, because they're one of very few people that know about all the supernatural occurrences but they have yet to arrive.

Suddenly, the room shakes and Shawn and the mysterious man shimmer into view.

Ryan just stares, still holding the marker; Gus drops the folder in his hands and Juliet freezes, mid-stride, about to begin to canvas the room once more.

"Uh…so…little misunderstanding …" Shawn clasps his hands together and looks at the group in the room. "This here is a, uh…" he glances at Joel, thinking fast. "A, uh…close friend of…"

"We met at summer camp." Joel finishes lamely.

Gus arches an eyebrow and looks over at Ryan, who looks back at him like, _don't ask me _and Juliet just sort of stands there in a bewildered silence.

"So, uh…" Shawn looks from Gus, to Ryan and over to Juliet. "Who wants lunch?"

**OoOoOo**

While Shawn and Joel hang back outside the diner, Juliet, Gus and Ryan cram themselves into a booth and begin whispering furiously.

"Is anyone buying that crap story?" Ryan demands as soon as their butts hit the seat.

Gus shakes his head. "I would have known who that is; I've gone to summer camp with Shawn since we were eight years old."

Juliet nods in agreement. "He's been secretive lately but he would have told us about him. He _teleported _into the office."

"I wish I could say that's the weirdest thing that's happened in the past few months." Gus mumbles.

"Well, we'll just get Shawn alone and ask him." Ryan says casually.

Gus eyes his best friend outside the window. "He doesn't look like he's about to let up anytime soon."

Shawn and Joel sidle into the place and Juliet pulls back from her hunched over position on the table when she sees them. "We'll talk about this later," she promises.

"Hey, so…how is everyone?" Shawn asks uncomfortably, clearly trying to dissuade the tension as he slides in next to Juliet and throws an arm around her.

"Dude, seriously, who is this?" Gus blurts, looking directly at Joel. Something about the guy is giving him a major _danger _vibe.

Juliet glares at him and Ryan averts his eyes.

"Um…" Shawn coughs. "What are you…talking about Gus? It's Joel…my friend from camp. You just don't remember because-"

Gus interrupts him with a cadence of voice that Shawn has never heard before. "Cut the _crap_, Shawn. Whoever the hell that is, he isn't from summer camp. I've never seen him before and neither have you. We've come this far trusting each other. Why are we stopping now?"

Shawn's eyes widen with surprise and just as he is about to respond he hears a muffled curse from Joel. He looks over at the teleporter, who has just made eye contact with a suspicious man in the back of the diner, cell phone firmly clamped to his ear.

"It's _them_." Joel hisses and Shawn jumps out of the booth as the man with the phone takes notice and begins speed-walking towards them. Joel reaches for Shawn to get them out of there but Shawn pulls back, looks at Ryan, Gus and Juliet with intense eyes. "I'll explain everything later but right now we've gotta get out of here!"

They all scramble to get out and Ryan trips in his haste, dropping to the floor. The man, already on their heels, grabs him by the collar of his shirt, hoists him to stand and turns to face Shawn, Joel, Juliet and Gus, who all stop in their tracks.

From his jacket pocket, the man pulls a gun and points it directly at Ryan's ribcage.

At the point, the people in the diner scream and flee, knocking over tables and chairs in their haste.

"Come me with me and nobody has to leave in a body bag." He says crisply, eyes trained on Joel and Shawn, who both stand frozen in fear.

Shawn looks over at Ryan and then stops. Because suddenly, he's not in this moment. He's five steps ahead. He's watching himself, Joel, Juliet and Gus. The man's still standing there, gun pointed on Ryan, when Joel lunges forward. A resounding shot fills the room and Joel goes down. The man then swivels around, pointing the gun at Shawn.

Shawn shakes himself free from the vision and sees Joel's foot rise a _centimeter _above the floor and holds his arm out, blocking him from going any further.

"Wait," he says thickly. "Don't." he thinks about what Joel said back in the field, thinks about the way he needs to orchestrate this. Ryan's in danger. _Everyone _is in danger.

Joel shoots Shawn a glare. "I don't have time for this." He's a blur, a motion, jumps from one place to the next, wrestles the gun away from the man and pushes Ryan to Shawn's safety.

"Go! Get out of here!" he screams. "I've got this!"

And Shawn pulls his friends – and himself – away from the chaos.

**OoOoOo**

"I…I don't understand…" Juliet looks at Shawn in confusion.

Shawn's just explained the entire situation, from beginning to end, leaving out no details. He's exhausted and weary and just plain…_sad_. He doesn't want to do this – he really, really doesn't. But it's like everything has just kick-started it all in motion and he can't help but think of his best friends, his girlfriend…his father. Everyone will be affected by _his _decisions.

"You can't just…_leave_." Ryan shakes his head. "We can think of something – we'll protect you!"

Shawn looks down at the floor. "But see, it's _my _job to protect _you _now. What happened back there – you could have died. We got out of there – but how many times will that happen? I can't stay in California – I need to run." He says it with finality, as if this is actually it, which…it is. It's unbelievable, undeniable, but this is the end of his time in Santa Barbara. Six years. Damn. Just when he thought he was in a secure job.

"We could go with you!" Juliet says in desperation, her eyes frantically searching Shawn for a way out of this but he gives nothing.

"I can't let you do that, Jules," he says quietly. He can't possibly have her uproot her entire life, her safety, for him.

There's a moment of chilling silence and then Gus's voice breaks the barrier. "So that's it, then? Just like that? You're going to get up and leave? How will we know where you're going? Will we be able to contact you?"

Shawn sighs, rubs a hand over his face. "I can't confirm anything. All I know is that Joel has connections somewhere in Canada."

"Canada?" Ryan echoes.

Shawn nods.

"What…what are you going to tell everyone?" Juliet asks.

Shawn shrugs. "Maybe it's best if I just…slip under the radar."

"Shawn…" Juliet reaches for his hand.

"I'm sorry," he says and moves out of her grasp.

* * *

><p>In his five and a half years gallivanting around as a psychic for the SBPD (and various other clients that had stumbled into the Psych office) there had always been an opportunity to run.<p>

Shawn had never actually counted on his act to _work _(let alone turn into something real). He'd never expected to extend roots and find stability. If anything, he thought he'd get a year out of it at the most. Then he could go off to the next city, the next state that would hire him for some menial job that didn't require a resume.

But one year turned into two and two rolled into three until it didn't feel strange anymore to walk into the police station and see Buzz and Juliet standing there at the water cooler. He liked the ability to draw everyone's attention to him and get paid for it.

His departure had always been a possibility – tiny modicum of doubt that presented itself whenever he was feeling most vulnerable. He'd never actually _planned _on it but now…

Here is he, backpack dangling off one shoulder, Ryan, Juliet, Gus and his dad standing in front of him and an odd sort of ache in his chest like maybe his clairvoyance should have given him a little insight on when all of this was going to happen.

Joel's standing off to the side, waiting expectantly, hands in his jeans pockets. He'd managed to get away from the agent back at the diner, but just barely. He'd popped back into the Psych office around ten PM and nearly scared the crap out of Ryan, who was reorganizing their filing system. He has a look on his face like he half feels bad for Shawn, half wants to get the hell out of there.

Henry is staring him down, all glares and silent declarations and soft movements that are actions his words will never convey. Shawn wishes there is some way to hold onto this, this version of his father that is so rarely seen and so often something he yearns for.

His gaze floats to Ryan. Ryan, the most malleable guy Shawn knows. He's been such a gigantic help throughout all this that not even forty jerk chicken dinners will make up for it. He's there whenever Shawn needs him – albeit not always so easily – and acts like a freakin' second dad. But in a way, Shawn is also his counterpart, the one that loosens him when he's too wound, the one that acts like a total idiot to merit a smile and he wonders what Ryan will do when he's gone.

Then there's Gus, who unconsciously brings a wave of guilt onto Shawn every time he looks at him. Gus was and is his best friend, staying despite the supernatural occurrences and whatever the hell else. Gus sort of got lost along the way and he's glad that he managed to get his friend back in on the action but he still feels a bit…guilty about keeping him in the dark for so long. Because Gus is the unconditional friend, the one that doesn't care if he sees you completely wasted and covered in snow from an unfortunate collision with a sled and a plow truck (long story). Gus is the one he goes to whenever anything is amiss. And now he's got to leave him behind.

And of course, the last person in the group, the one that's surprisingly still here…Juliet.

See, in the beginning, Juliet was unattainable. A beautiful woman, a good detective and sensible. She wasn't about to let someone like Shawn corrupt her. But over time their friendship became more and suddenly they were exactly where Shawn wanted them to be. But then happy times turned into psychic visions and Shawn just kept moving farther and farther away, until their relationship was hardly one at all. Shawn feels even guiltier than he does about Gus because Gus expects him to be flimsy and not answer phone calls when he should and be a bumbling idiot. But Juliet expects different, sees Shawn as he presented himself to her all those years – romantic, serious when he absolutely has to be…_hers_. And Shawn wants to be all he can for her, really, he does, but right now there is just no room. He's got to be son-Shawn and best-friend-Shawn, faux-psychic-Shawn and real-psychic-Shawn and somewhere along the way, boyfriend-Shawn didn't make the cut.

So he looks at Juliet with sad eyes because he's giving all of this up and it's just not right, not yet, to be leaving something behind that feels like it's just getting started.

But he has to leave to protect this group of people and honestly, anyone else that's ever associated themselves with the psychic.

He hasn't felt this sure, this determined about something since the Ying-Yang thing with his mom.

Gus speaks first. "Are you sure about this?"

Shawn laughs ruefully. What a loaded question. "Twenty-eight percent or so," he jokes, not missing the way his friend's eyes light up for the briefest moment.

"We could help you," Ryan offers, eyes darkening a little at the idea of Shawn doing this all on his own.

Shawn shakes his head. "You guys will be safe once I'm gone."

Henry just looks at his son and Shawn doesn't need to read his mind to know what he's thinking – _don't. _But he has to leave, has to go on a new path where no one and no certain thing will be affected by him. It's the only way to avoid any more guilt.

Juliet is the only one that isn't uttering a single word. She's just standing there, eyes brimming with unshed tears, arms by her sides. Shawn wishes that the both of them can say exactly what they want to but even the words he had rehearsed are caught in the folds of his fear.

He looks back again at Ryan, who is wearing his typical expression of _what do you think you're doing? _He and Gus are a lot like Shawn and Gus, 2.0. Ryan can be impulsive and calculating and Gus can be the one that pulls back the reigns, finding the almost miniscule clues with an air that has you wondering how he does so. Shawn knows (and really _knows_) that Gus and Ryan will soon realize their combined strengths and create something unique. He knows they will be okay.

He also knows that his father will throw himself into police work. He will file and type hours into the night, fueled by sheer determination. Henry won't be okay with Shawn's decision but he will find some pat of him that can uncover supernatural cases without wincing at the thought of his son.

Juliet's future is a kind of zig-zag pattern. She'll hop around, unsure, for a really long time. She may or may not date other people but in the end she'll wait for Shawn.

"When will you come back?" Jules asks and it's a desperate question, pleading and Shawn wishes he has a straight answer.

"I don't know," he admits. "But I _will _come back." he then looks over at Ryan, Gus and Henry and they take the hint and back away a few feet.

Shawn reaches for Juliet's hand. "Hey – look at me."

Juliet looks up.

"I love you, you know that?"

Juliet's eyes start brim with the tears again.

"I know I haven't really been there much for you and this is kind of the worst thing ever to do to a relationship." Shawn continues.

Juliet lets out a nervous chuckle.

"So I have to end this," Shawn says gently, watching the way Juliet's eyes blink rapidly and she steps backwards. "I have to end this because I don't know when I'll be back and it's unfair to you to leave you here waiting."

Juliet doesn't say anything – _can't _say anything.

"I love you," Shawn repeats. "And I _promise _that I'll come back someday. But I don't want you to be alone."

Juliet pulls Shawn into a hug and whispers, "I love you too." She steps away because Henry is coming over and he plants himself right in front of Shawn, seemingly ending their conversation.

"You're an idiot," he says simply.

Shawn grimaces. "Yeah, I know."

But his dad cuts him off as he wraps him in a tight hug. "Just be careful, okay?" he asks.

Shawn nods.

Then there's Gus and Ryan, who both awkwardly joke about the Psych office and how they might just take cases and Shawn nods his assent like he actually thinks they can do it. Gus slips Shawn his "emergency" DQ card and tells him to use it sparingly. Ryan shyly asks about updating Psych's webpage and yes, of course he has free reign to do so – he's practically a consultant anyway.

Once everyone's doled out their hugs and warnings and gifts and apologies, Shawn straps his bag on his shoulders and walks over to Joel, wanting to joke about his departure with everyone, say something cheesy like "catch ya on the flip side" but for once, he has no words. He just raises his palm in a silent goodbye and everyone else slowly waves back before he latches his grip onto Joel's shoulder and allows himself to be pulled away.

_The end_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Geez, guys! I'm sorry it took so long to update! My summer has actually been kind of busy! Thank you all, every single one of you, for your kind words and encouraging praise! Without you this story wouldn't even be around! It was a fun ride. :) I may or may not make a sequel, that's kinda still up in the air. But I like to give you guys an open ending. THANK YOU EVERYONE! Virtual chocolate-chip cookies for you!**


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